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St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


IWIt,  Or  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


St.   Peter's    Umbrella 

A  Novel  by  KALMAN  MIKSZATH 

Translated  from  the  Hungarian 
by  B.  W.  Worswick,  with  In- 
troduction by  R.  N  is  bet  Bain 


Illustrated 


Harper  6-  Brothers,  Publishers 
New  York  and  London,      MDCCCC 


Copyright,  1900,  by  JARROLD  &  SONS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION, vii 

PART    L— THE    LEGEND. 

CHAPTER 

I.      LITTLE   VERONICA    IS    TAKEN    AWAY,         .  3 

II.      GLOGOVA   AS    IT    USED   TO    BE,  7 

III.  THE    NEW    PRIEST   AT   GLOGOVA,        .            .  II 

IV.  THE    UMBRELLA   AND    ST.    PETER,     .            .  25 

PART  II.— THE  GREGORICS  FAMILY. 

I.      THE  TACTLESS  MEMBER  OF  THE  FAMILY,  49 

II.      DUBIOUS    SIGNS, 63 

ill.       PAL   GREGORICS'S   DEATH    AND    WILL,         .  77 

IV.       THE   AVARICIOUS   GREGORICS,  Q2 

PART    III.— TRACES. 

I.       THE    UMBRELLA    AGAIN,              .            .            .  123 

II.       OUR   ROSALIA, 138 

III.       THE   TRACES    LEAD   TO   GLOGOVA,       .            .  144 

IV.      THE    EARRING, l6o 

V 


2131336 


Contents 

PART  IV.— INTELLECTUAL  SOCIETY 
IN  BABASZEK. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.      THE   SUPPER   AT   THE    MRAVUCSANS,         .       19 1 
II.       NIGHT    BRINGS    COUNSEL,  .  .  .       2l8 

PART    V.— THE    THIRD    DEVIL. 

I.       MARIA    CZOBOR'S    ROSE,    THE    PRECIPICE, 

AND    THE    OLD    PEAR-TREE,  .  .  235 

II.       THREE    SPARKS, 256 

III.      LITTLE   VERONICA   IS   TAKEN    AWAY,          .  2/6 


Illustrations 


JOINED    HANDS    UNDER    THE    SACRED   UMBRELLA "   Frontispiece 
THE  CHILD   WAS   IN   THE   BASKET  " Facing  p.      26 


INTRODUCTION 


KALMAN  MIKSZATH,  perhaps  the  most  purely 
national,  certainly,  after  Jokai,  the  most  popular 
of  all  the  Magyar  novelists,  was  born  at  Szkla- 
bonya,  in  the  county  of  Nograd,  on  January  i6th, 
1849.  Educated  at  Rimaszombath  and  Pest,  he 
adopted  the  legal  profession,  and  settled  down  as 
a  magistrate  in  his  native  county,  where  his  fam- 
ily had  for  generations  lived  the  placid,  patriar- 
chal life  of  small  country  squires.  A  shrewd  ob- 
server, with  a  strong  satrical  bent  and  an  ardent 
love  of  letters,  the  young  advocate  made  his 
debut  as  an  author,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  with 
a  volume  of  short  stories,  which  failed,  however, 
to  catch  the  public  taste.  Shortly  afterward  he 
flitted  to  Szeged,  and  contributed  to  the  leading 
periodical  there  a  series  of  sketches,  whose  pi- 
quant humor  and  perfection  of  style  attracted  so 
much  notice  as  to  encourage  a  bookseller  in  the 
famous  city  on  the  Theiss  to  publish,  in  1881,  an- 
other volume  of  tales,  the  epoch-making  "  Tot 


IX 


Introduction 


Atyafiak,"  which  was  followed,  four  months  later, 
by  a  supplementary  volume,  entitled  "  A  jo  palo- 
czok."  Critics  of  every  school  instantly  hailed 
these  two  little  volumes  as  the  finished  master- 
pieces of  a  new  and  entirely  original  genre,  the 
like  of  which  had  hitherto  been  unknown  in  Hun- 
gary. The  short  story  had,  indeed,  been  previ- 
ously cultivated,  with  more  or  less  of  success,  by 
earlier  Magyar  writers;  but  these  first  attempts 
had,  for  the  most  part,  been  imitations  of  foreign 
novelists,  mere  exotics  which  struck  no  deep  root 
in  the  national  literature.  Mikszath  was  the 
first  to  study  from  the  life  the  peculiarities  and 
characteristics  of  the  peasantry  among  whom  he 
dwelt,  the  first  to  produce  real,  vivid  pictures  of 
Magyar  folk-life  in  a  series  of  humoresks,  dramas, 
idylls — call  them  what  you  will — of  unsurpassa- 
ble grace  and  delicacy,  seasoned  with  a  pleas- 
antly pungent  humor,  but  never  without  a  sub- 
flavor  of  that  tender  melancholy  which  lies  at  the 
heart  of  the  Hungarian  peasantry.  And  these 
exquisite  miniatures  were  set  in  the  frame  of  a 
lucid,  pregnant,  virile  style,  not  unworthy  of  Mau- 
passant or  Kjelland.  Henceforth  Mikszath  was 
sure  of  an  audience.  In  1883  he  removed  to 
Pest,  and  in  the  following  year  a  fresh  series  of 
sketches,  "  A  tisztelt  hazbol,"  appeared  in  the 
columns  of  the  leading  Hungarian  newspaper,  the 
"  Pesti  Hirlap,"  which  established  his  reputation 

x 


Introduction 


once  for  all.  During-  the  last  twelve  years  Miks- 
zath has  published  at  least  a  dozen  volumes,  and, 
so  far,  his  productivity  shows  no  sign  of  exhaus- 
tion. The  chief  literary  societies  of  his  native 
land,  including  the  Hungarian  Academy,  have  all 
opened  their  doors  to  him,  and  since  1882  he  has 
been  twice,  unanimously,  elected  a  member  of  the 
Hungarian  Parliament,  in  the  latter  case,  oddly 
enough,  representing  a  constituency  vacated  by 
his  illustrious  compeer  and  fellow-humorist, 
Maurus  Jokai.  Fortunately  for  literature,  he  has 
shown  no  very  remarkable  aptitude  for  politics. 
When  I  add  that  in  1873  Mikszath  married  Miss 
Ilona  Mauks,  and  has  two  children  living,  who 
have  frequently  figured  in  his  tales,  I  have  said  all 
that  need  be  said  of  the  life-story  of  this  charming 
and  interesting  author. 

As  already  implied,  the  forte  of  Mikszath  is  the 
conte,  and  as  a  conteur  he  has  few  equals  in 
modern  literature.  "A  jo  paloczok,"  in  particu- 
lar, has  won  a  world-wide  celebrity,  and  been 
translated  into  nearly  every  European  language 
except  English,  the  greater  part  of  the  Swedish 
version  being  by  the  accomplished  and  versatile 
pen  of  King  Oscar.  But  Mikszath  has  also  es- 
sayed the  romance  with  eminent  success,  and  it  is 
one  of  his  best  romances  that  is  now  presented  to 
the  reader.  "  Szent  Peter  esernyoje,"  to  give  it 
its  Magyar  title,  is  a  quaintly  delightful  narrative 

xi 


Introduction 


in  a  romantic  environment  of  out-of-the-world 
Slovak  villages,  with  a  ragged  red  Umbrella  and  a 
brand-new  brass  Caldron  as  the  good  and  evil 
geniuses  of  the  piece  respectively.  The  Um- 
brella, which  is  worth  a  king's  ransom,  is  sold 
for  a  couple  of  florins  to  the  "  white  Jew  "  of  the 
district,  becomes  the  tutelary  deity — or  shall  I  say 
the  fetish  ? — of  half  a  dozen  parishes,  and  is  only 
recovered,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  by  its  lawful 
owner,  when,  by  a  singular  irony  of  fate,  it  has 
become  absolutely  valueless — from  a  pecuniary 
point  of  view.  The  Caldron,  on  the  other  hand, 
which  is  erroneously  supposed  to  contain  count- 
less treasures,  and  is  the  outcome  of  a  grimly  prac- 
tical joke,  proves  a  regular  box  of  Pandora,  and 
originates  a  famous  lawsuit  which  lasts  ten  years 
and  ruins  three  families — who  deserve  no  better 
fate.  How  the  Umbrella  and  the  Caldron  first 
come  into  the  story  the  reader  must  be  left  to  find 
out  for  himself.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  grouped 
around  them  are  very  many  pleasant  and — by  way 
of  piquant  contrast — a  sprinkling  of  unpleasant 
personages,  whose  adventures  and  vicissitudes 
will,  I  am  convinced,  supply  excellent  entertain- 
ment to  all  lovers  of  fine  literature  and  genuine 
humor. 

R.  NISBET  BAIN. 


The   Legend 


PART  I 


CHAPTER  I. 

LITTLE   VERONICA    IS    TAKEN    AWAY. 

THE  schoolmaster's  widow  at  the  Halap  was 
dead.  When  a  schoolmaster  dies  there  is  not 
much  of  a  funeral,  but  when  his  widow  follows 
him,  there  is  still  less  fuss  made.  And  this  one 
had  left  nothing  but  a  goat,  a  goose  she  had 
been  fattening,  and  a  tiny  girl  of  two  years.  The 
goose  ought  to  have  been  fattened  at  least  a 
week  longer,  but  the  poor  woman  had  not  been 
able  to  hold  out  so  long.  As  far  as  the  goose 
was  concerned  she  had  died  too  soon,  for  the 
child  it  was  too  late.  In  fact,  she  ought  never 
to  have  been  born.  It  would  have  been  better 
had  the  woman  died  when  her  husband  did. 
(Dear  me,  what  a  splendid  voice  that  man  had 
to  be  sure!) 

The  child  was  born  some  months  after  its 
father's  death.  The  mother  was  a  good,  honest 
woman,  but  after  all  it  did  not  seem  quite  right, 
for  they  already  had  a  son,  a  priest,  a  very  good 
son  on  the  whole,  only  it  was  a  pity  he  could  not 

3 


St.    Peter's   Umbrella 


help  his  mother  a  bit;  but  he  was  very  poor  him- 
self, and  lived  a  long  way  off  in  Wallachia,  as 
chaplain  to  an  old  priest.  But  it  was  said  that  two 
weeks  ago  he  had  been  presented  with  a  living 
in  a  small  village  called  Glogova,  somewhere  in 
the  mountains  between  Selmeczbanya  and  Besz- 
tercebanya.  There  was  a  man  in  Halap,  Janos 
Kapiczany,  who  had  passed  there  once  when  he 
was  driving  some  oxen  to  a  fair,  and  he  said  it 
was  a  miserable  little  place. 

And  now  the  schoolmaster's  widow  must 
needs  go  and  die,  just  when  her  son  might  have 
been  able  to  help  her  a  little.  But  no  amount 
of  talking  would  bring  her  back  again,  and  I 
must  say,  for  the  honor  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Halap,  that  they  gave  the  poor  soul  a  very  de- 
cent funeral. 

There  was  not  quite  enough  money  collected 
to  defray  the  expenses,  so  they  had  to  sell  the 
goat  to  make  up  the  sum;  but  the  goose  was  left, 
though  there  was  nothing  for  it  to  feed  on,  so  it 
gradually  got  thinner  and  thinner,  till  it  was  its 
original  size  again;  and  instead  of  waddling 
about  in  the  awkward,  ungainly  way  it  had  done 
on  account  of  its  enormous  size,  it  began  to 
move  in  a  more  stately  manner;  in  fact,  its  life 
had  been  saved  by  the  loss  of  another.  God  in 
His  wisdom  by  taking  one  life  often  saves  an- 
other, for,  believe  me,  senseless  beings  are  entered 


Little  Veronica  is  Taken  Away 

in  His  book  as  well  as  sensible  ones,  and  He 
takes  as  much  care  of  them  as  of  kings  and 
princes. 

The  wisdom  of  God  is  great,  but  that  of  the 
judge  of  Halap  was  not  trifling  either.  He 
ordered  that  after  the  funeral  the  little  girl  (Ver- 
onica was  her  name)  was  to  spend  one  day  at 
every  house  in  the  village  in  turns,  and  was  to, 
be  looked  after  as  one  of  the  family. 

"  And  how  long  is  that  to  last  ?"  asked  one  of 
the  villagers. 

"  Until  I  deign  to  give  orders  to  the  contrary," 
answered  the  judge  shortly.  And  so  things  went 
on  for  ten  days,  until  Mate  Billeghi  decided  to 
take  his  wheat  to  Besztercebanya  to  sell,  for  he 
had  heard  that  the  Jews  down  that  way  were  not 
yet  so  sharp  as  in  the  neighborhood  of  Halap. 
This  was  a  good  chance  for  the  judge. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  you  take  your  wheat 
there,  you  may  as  well  take  the  child  to  her 
brother.  Glogova  must  be  somewhere  that  way." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  was  the  answer,  "  it  is  in 
a  totally  different  direction." 

"  It  must  be  down  that  way  if  I  wish  it,"  thun- 
dered out  the  judge. 

Billeghi  tried  to  get  out  of  it,  saying  it  was 
awkward  for  him,  and  out  of  his  way.  But  it  was 
of  no  use,  when  the  judge  ordered  a  thing,  it 
had  to  be  done.  So  one  Wednesday  they  put  the 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


sacks  of  wheat  into  Billeghi's  cart,  and  on  the  top 
of  them  a  basket  containing  Veronica  and  the 
goose,  for  the  latter  was,  of  course,  part  of  the 
priest's  inheritance.  The  good  folks  of  the  village 
had  made  shortbread  and  biscuits  for  the  little 
orphan  to  take  with  her  on  her  journey  out  into 
the  great  world,  and  they  also  filled  a  basket  with 
pears  and  plums ;  and  as  the  cart  drove  off,  many 
of  them  shed  tears  for  the  poor  little  waif,  who 
had  no  idea  where  they  were  taking  her  to,  but 
only  saw  that  when  the  horses  began  to  move, 
she  still  kept  her  place  in  the  basket,  and  only  the 
houses  and  trees  seemed  to  move. 


CHAPTER  II. 

GLOGOVA    AS    IT    USED    TO    BE. 

NOT  only  the  worthy  Kapiczany  had  seen 
Glogova,  the  writer  of  these  pages  has  also  been 
there.  It  is  a  miserable  little  place  in  a  narrow 
valley  between  bare  mountains.  There  is  not  a 
decent  road  for  miles  around,  much  less  a  railway. 
Nowadays  they  say  there  is  some  sort  of  an  old- 
fashioned  engine,  with  a  carriage  or  two  attached, 
which  plies  between  Besztercebanya  and  Selmecz- 
banya,  but  even  that  does  not  pass  near  to  Glo- 
gova. It  will  take  at  least  five  hundred  years  to 
bring  it  up  to  that  pitch  of  civilization  other 
villages  have  reached. 

The  soil  is  poor,  a  sort  of  clay,  and  very  little 
will  grow  there  except  oats  and  potatoes,  and 
even  these  have  to  be  coaxed  from  the  ground. 
A  soil  like  that  cannot  be  spoken  of  as  "  Mother 
Earth,"  it  is  more  like  "  Mother-in-law  Earth." 
It  is  full  of  pebbles,  and  has  broad  cracks  here 
and  there,  on  the  borders  of  which  a  kind  of 
whitish  weed  grows,  called  by  the  peasants 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"orphans'  hair."  Is  the  soil  too  old?  Why,  it 
cannot  be  older  than  any  other  soil,  but  its 
strength  has  been  used  up  more  rapidly.  Down 
below  in  the  plain  they  have  been  growing  noth- 
ing but  grass  for  about  a  thousand  years,  but  up 
here  enormous  oak-trees  used  to  grow ;  so  it  is  no 
wonder  that  the  soil  has  lost  its  strength.  Poverty 
and  misery  are  to  be  found  here,  and  yet  a  certain 
feeling  of  romance  takes  possession  of  one  at  the 
sight  of  it.  The  ugly  peasant  huts  seem  only  to 
heighten  the  beauty  of  the  enormous  rocks  which 
rise  above  us.  It  would  be  a  sin  to  build  castles 
there,  which,  with  their  ugly  modern  towers, 
would  hide  those  wild-looking  rocks. 

The  perfume  of  the  elder  and  juniper  fills  the 
air,  but  there  are  no  other  flowers,  except  here 
and  there  in  one  of  the  tiny  gardens,  a  mallow, 
which  a  barefooted,  fair-haired  Slovak  girl  tends, 
and  waters  from  a  broken  jug.  I  see  the  little 
village  before  me,  as  it  was  in  1873,  when  I  was 
there  last ;  I  see  its  small  houses,  the  tiny  gardens 
sown  partly  with  clover,  partly  with  maize,  with 
here  and  there  a  plum-tree,  its  branches  supported 
by  props.  For  the  fruit-trees  at  least  did  their 
duty,  as  though  they  had  decided  to  make  up  to 
the  poor  Slovaks  for  the  poverty  of  their  harvest. 

When  I  was  there  the  priest  had  just  died,  and 
we  had  to  take  an  inventory  of  his  possessions. 
There  was  nothing  worth  speaking  of,  a  few  bits 


Glogova  as  it  Used  To  Be 

of  furniture,  old  and  well  worn,  and  a  few  shabby 
cassocks.  But  the  villagers  were  sorry  to  lose 
the  old  priest. 

"  He  was  a  good  man,"  they  said,  "  but  he  had 
no  idea  of  economy,  though,  after  all,  he  had  not 
very  much  to  economize  with." 

"  Why  don't  you  pay  your  priest  better?"  we 
asked.  And  a  big  burly  peasant  answered: 

"  The  priest  is  not  our  servant,  but  the  servant 
of  God,  and  every  master  must  pay  his  own  ser- 
vant" 

After  making  the  inventory,  and  while  the 
coachman  was  harnessing  the  horses,  we  walked 
across  the  road  to  have  a  look  at  the  school,  for 
my  companion  was  very  fond  of  posing  as  a 
patron  of  learning. 

The  schoolhouse  was  small  and  low,  with  a 
simple,  thatched  roof.  Only  the  church  had 
a  wooden  roof,  but  even  the  House  of  God  was 
very  simply  built,  and  there  was  no  tower  to  it, 
only  a  small  belfry  at  one  side. 

The  schoolmaster  was  waiting  for  us.  If  I 
remember  rightly  his  name  was  Gyorgy  Majzik. 
He  was  a  strong,  robust-looking  man,  with  an 
interesting,  intelligent  face,  and  a  plain,  straight- 
forward way  of  speaking  which  immediately 
awoke  a  feeling  of  friendship  in  one.  He  took 
us  in  to  see  the  children ;  the  girls  sat  on  one  side, 
the  boys  on  the  other,  all  as  tidy  and  clean  as 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


possible.     They  rose  on  our   entrance,   and   in 
a  singing  voice  said : 

"Vitajtye  panyi,  vitajtye!"  (Good-morning, 
honored  sirs!) 

My  companion  put  a  few  questions  to  the  rosy, 
round-faced  children,  who  stared  at  us  with  their 
large  brown  eyes.  They  all  had  brown  eyes.  The 
questions  were,  of  course,  not  difficult,  but  they 
caused  the  children  an  amount  of  serious  think- 
ing. However,  my  friend  was  indulgent,  and  he 
only  patted  the  schoolmaster  on  the  back  and 
said: 

"  I  am  quite  contented  with  their  answers,  my 
friend." 

The  schoolmaster  bowed,  then,  with  his  head' 
held  high,  he  accompanied  us  out  to  the  road. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    NEW    PRIEST    AT    GLOGOVA. 

THE  new  priest  had  arrived  in  the  only  cart 
the  villagers  had  at  their  disposal.  Two  cows 
were  harnessed  to  it,  and  on  the  way  the  sacristan 
stopped  to  milk  them,  and  then  offered  some  of 
the  milk  to  the  young  priest. 

"  It's  very  good  milk,"  he  said,  "  especially 
Bimbo's." 

His  reverence's  luggage  was  not  bulky ;  it  con- 
sisted of  a  plain  wooden  box,  a  bundle  of  bed- 
clothes, two  walking-sticks,  and  some  pipes  tied 
together  with  string.  As  they  passed  through  the 
various  villages  the  sacristan  was  often  chaffed 
by  the  inhabitants. 

"  Well,"  they  called  out  to  him,  "  couldn't  you 
find  a  better  conveyance  than  that  for  your  new 
priest?" 

Whereupon  the  sacristan  tried  to  justify  his 
fellow-villagers  by  saying  with  a  contemptuous 
look  at  the  luggage  in  the  cart : 

II 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  It's  good  enough,  I'm  sure.  Why,  a  calf 
a  month  old  could  draw  those  things." 

But  if  he  had  not  brought  much  with  him  in 
the  way  of  worldly  goods,  Janos  Belyi  did  not 
find  much  either  in  his  new  parish,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  going  to  wreck  and  ruin.  The  rela- 
tions of  the  dead  priest  had  taken  away  every  stick 
they  could  lay  hands  on,  and  had  only  left  a  dog, 
his  favorite.  It  was  a  dog  such  as  one  sees  every 
day,  as  far  as  his  shape  and  coat  were  concerned, 
but  he  was  now  in  a  very  unpleasant  position. 
After  midday  he  began  to  wander  from  house  to 
house  in  the  village,  slinking  into  the  kitchens; 
for  his  master  had  been  in  the  habit  of  dining 
every  day  with  one  or  other  of  his  parishioners, 
and  always  took  his  dog  with  him. 

The  dog's  name  was  Vistula,  but  his  master 
need  not  have  gone  so  far  to  find  the  name 
of  a  river,  when  the  Bjela  Voda  flowed  right 
through  the  meadows  outside  the  village.  (The 
Hungarian  peasants  generally  give  their  dogs 
the  name  of  a  river,  thinking  it  prevents  hydro- 
phobia. )  The  dog  had  already  begun  to  feel  that 
he  and  the  priest  together  had  been  better  received 
than  he  alone,  though,  until  now,  he  had  always 
imagined,  with  his  canine  philosophy,  that  his 
master  had  in  reality  been  eating  more  than  his 
share  of  the  food.  But  now  he  saw  the  difference, 
for  he  was  driven  away  from  the  houses  where 

12 


The  New  Priest  at  Glogova 

he  had  once  been  an  honored  guest.  So  altogether 
he  was  in  a  very  miserable,  lean  condition  when 
the  new  priest  arrived.  The  sacristan  had  shown 
him  his  new  home,  with  its  four  bare  walls,  its 
garden  overgrown  with  weeds,  its  empty  stable 
and  fowl-house.  The  poor  young  man  smiled. 

"  And  is  that  all  mine  ?"  he  asked. 

"  All  of  it,  everything  you  see  here,"  was  the 
answer,  "  and  this  dog  too.'* 

"Whose  dog  is  it?" 

"  It  belonged  to  the  poor  dead  priest,  God  rest 
his  soul.  We  wanted  to  kill  the  poor  beast,  but 
no  one  dares  to,  for  they  say  that  the  spirit  of  his 
old  master  would  come  back  and  haunt  us." 

The  dog  was  looking  at  the  young  priest  in 
a  melancholy,  almost  tearful  way;  perhaps  the 
sight  of  the  cassock  awoke  sad  memories  in  him. 

"  I  will  keep  him,"  said  the  priest,  and  stooping 
down  he  patted  the  dog's  lean  back.  "  At  all 
events  there  will  be  some  living  thing  near 
me." 

"  That  will  be  quite  right,"  said  the  sacristan. 
"  One  must  make  a  beginning,  though  one  gener- 
ally gets  something  worth  watching  first,  and 
then  looks  out  for  a  watch-dog.  But  it  doesn't 
matter  if  it  is  the  other  way  about." 

Janos  Belyi  smiled  (he  had  a  very  winning 
smile,  like  a  girl's),  for  he  saw  that  old  Vistula 
would  not  have  much  to  do,  in  fact  would  be  quite 

13 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


like  a  private  gentleman  in  comparison  to  his 
companions. 

All  this  time  people  had  been  arriving  in  the 
yard  to  have  a  look  at  the  new  priest ;  the  women 
kept  at  a  distance,  and  said :  "  Dear  me !  so  young 
and  already  in  holy  orders !" 

The  men  went  up  and  shook  hands  with  him, 
saying,  "  God  bless  you !  May  you  be  happy  with 
us!" 

An  old  woman  called  out,  "  May  you  be  with 
us  till  your  death!" 

The  older  women  admired  his  looks,  and  re- 
marked how  proud  his  mother  must  be  of  him. 

In  fact  the  new  priest  seemed  to  have  taken 
every  one's  fancy,  and  he  spoke  a  few  words  with 
them  all,  and  then  said  he  was  tired,  and  went 
across  to  the  schoolmaster's,  for  he  was  to  live 
there  for  a  time  till  he  could  get  his  own  place 
a  bit  straight,  and  until  he  saw  some  signs  of  an 
income.  r. ;  . 

Only  a  few  of  the  more  important  villagers 
accompanied  him  to  talk  over  the  state  of  affairs : 
Peter  Szlavik,  the  sacristan ;  Mihaly  Gongoly,  the 
nabob  of  Glogova ;  and  the  miller,  Gyorgy  Klinc- 
sok.  He  began  to  question  them,  and  took  out 
his  note-book,  in  order  to  make  notes  as  to  what 
his  income  was  likely  to  be. 

"  How  many  inhabitants  are  there  in  the  vil- 
lage?" 


The  New  Priest  at  Glogova 

"  Rather  less  than  five  hundred." 

"  And  how  much  do  they  pay  the  priest?" 

They  began  to  reckon  out  how  much  wood  they 
had  to  give,  how  much  corn,  and  how  much  wine. 
The  young  priest  looked  more  and  more  serious 
as  they  went  on. 

"That  is  very  little,"  he  said  sadly.  "And 
what  are  the  fees?" 

"  Oh,  they  are  large  enough,"  answered  Klinc- 
sok ;  "  at  a  funeral  it  depends  on  the  dead  person, 
at  a  wedding  it  depends  on  the  people  to  be 
married;  but  they  are  pretty  generous  on  that 
occasion  as  a  rule ;  and  at  a  christening  one  florin 
is  paid.  I'm  sure  that's  enough,  isn't  it?" 

"  And  how  many  weddings  are  there  in  a 
year?" 

"  Oh,  that  depends  on  the  potato  harvest. 
Plenty  of  potatoes,  plenty  of  weddings.  The 
harvest  decides  it ;  but  as  a  rule  there  are  at  least 
four  or  five." 

"  That  is  not  many.  And  how  many  deaths 
occur  ?" 

"  That  depends  on  the  quality  of  the  potato 
harvest.  If  the  potatoes  are  bad,  there  are  many 
deaths,  if  they  are  good,  there  are  less  deaths,  for 
we  are  not  such  fools  as  to  die  then.  Of  course 
now  and  then  a  falling  tree  in  the  woods  strikes 
one  or  the  other  dead ;  or  an  accident  happens  to 
a  cart,  and  the  driver  is  killed.  You  may  reckon 

15 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


a  year  with  eight  deaths  a  good  one  as  far  as  you 
are  concerned." 

"  But  they  don't  all  belong  to  the  priest,"  said 
the  nabob  of  Glogova,  smoothing  back  his  hair. 

"  Why,  how  is  that  ?"  asked  the  priest. 

"  Many  of  the  inhabitants  of  Glogova  are 
never  buried  in  the  cemetery  at  all.  The  wolves 
eat  them  without  ever  announcing  it  in  the 
parish." 

"  And  some  die  in  other  parts  of  the  country," 
went  on  Gyorgy  Klincsok,  "  so  that  only  very  few 
of  them  are  buried  here." 

"  It  is  a  bad  lookout,"  said  the  priest.  "  But 
the  parish  fields,  what  about  them?" 

Now  they  all  wanted  to  speak  at  once,  but 
Klincsok  pulled  the  sacristan  aside,  and  stood  up 
in  front  of  the  priest. 

"  Fields  ?"  he  said.  "  Why  you  can  have  as 
much  ground  as  you  like.  If  you  want  one  hun- 
dred acres  .  .  ." 

"  One  hundred  acres !"  shouted  Szlavik,  "  five 
hundred  if  you  like ;  we  shall  not  refuse  our  priest 
any  amount  of  ground  he  likes  to  ask  for." 

The  priest's  countenance  began  to  clear,  but 
honest  Szlavik  did  not  long  leave  him  in  doubt. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  began,  "  the  boundaries  of 
the  pasture-lands  of  Glogova  are  not  well  defined 
to  this  day.  There  are  no  proper  title-deeds; 
there  was  some  arrangement  made  with  regard 

16 


The  New  Priest  at  Glogova 

to  them,  but  in  1823  there  was  a  great  fire  here, 
and  all  our  documents  were  burnt.  So  every  one 
takes  as  much  of  the  land  as  he  and  his  family 
can  till.  Each  man  ploughs  his  own  field,  and 
when  it  is  about  used  up  he  looks  out  a  fresh  bit 
of  land.  So  half  the  ground  is  always  unused, 
of  course  the  worst  part,  into  which  it  is  not  worth 
while  putting  any  work." 

"  I  see,"  sighed  the  priest,  "  and  that  half 
belongs  to  the  church." 

It  was  not  a  very  grand  lookout,  but  by 
degrees  he  got  used  to  the  idea  of  it,  and  if 
unpleasant  thoughts  would  come  cropping  up, 
he  dispersed  them  by  a  prayer.  When  praying,  he 
was  on  his  own  ground,  a  field  which  always 
brought  forth  fruit;  he  could  reap  there  at  any 
minute  all  he  was  in  need  of — patience,  hope, 
comfort,  content.  He  set  to  work  to  get  his 
house  in  order,  so  that  he  could  at  least  be  alone. 
Luckily  he  had  found  in  the  next  village  an  old 
school  friend,  Tamas  Urszinyi,  a  big,  broad- 
shouldered  man,  plain-spoken,  but  kind-hearted. 

"  Glogova  is  a  wretched  hole,"  he  said,  "  but 
not  every  place  can  be  the  Bishopric  of  Neutra. 
However,  you  will  have  to  put  up  with  it  as  it  is. 
Daniel  was  worse  off  in  the  lions'  den,  and  after 
all  these  are  only  sheep." 

"  Which  have  no  wool,"  remarked  his  rever- 
ence, smiling. 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  They  have  wool,  but  you  have  not  the 
shears." 

In  a  few  days  he  had  furnished  his  house  with 
the  money  he  had  borrowed  of  his  friend,  and 
one  fine  autumn  afternoon  he  was  able  to  take 
possession  of  his  own  house.  Oh,  how  delightful 
it  was  to  arrange  things  as  he  liked!  What 
pleasant  dreams  he  would  have  lying  in  his  own 
bed,  on  pillows  made  by  his  own  mother!  He 
thought  over  it  all  when  he  lay  down  to  sleep, 
and  before  going  to  sleep  he  counted  the  corners 
of  the  room  so  as  to  be  sure  and  remember  his 
dreams.  (The  Hungarian  peasants  say,  that 
when  you  sleep  in  a  room  for  the  first  time  you 
must  count  the  corners,  then  you  will  remember 
your  dream,  which  is  sure  to  come  true.)  He 
remembered  his  dream  the  next  morning,  and  it 
was  a  very  pleasant  one.  He  was  chasing  butter- 
flies in  the  fields  outside  his  native  village,  looking 
for  birds'  nests,  playing  games  with  the  boys  and 
girls,  having  a  quarrel  with  Pali  Szabo,  and  they 
were  just  coming  to  blows  when  some  one  tapped 
at  the  window  outside. 

The  priest  awoke  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  It  was 
morning,  the  sun  was  shining  into  the  room. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  called  out. 

"  Open  the  door,  Janko !" 

Janko!  Who  was  calling  him  Janko?  It 
seemed  to  him  as  though  it  were  one  of  his  old 

18 


The  New  Priest  at  Glogova 

schoolfellows,  from  whom  he  had  just  parted  in 
his  dream. 

He  jumped  out  of  bed  and  ran  to  the  window. 

"  Who  is  it?"  he  repeated. 

"  It  is  I,"  was  the  answer,  "  Mate  Billeghi 
from  your  old  home.  Come  out,  Janko,  no,  I 
mean  of  course,  please  come  out,  your  reverence. 
I've  brought  something." 

The  priest  dressed  hastily.  His  heart  was 
beating  fast  with  a  kind  of  presentiment  that  he 
was  to  hear  bad  news.  He  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  out^*?r 

"  Here  I  am,  Mr.  Billeghi ;  what  have  you 
brought  me?" 

But  Mr.  Billeghi  had  left  the  window  and  gone 
back  to  the  cart,  where  he  was  unfastening  the 
basket  containing  little  Veronica  and  the  goose. 
The  horses  hung  their  heads,  and  one  of  them 
tried  to  lie  down,  but  the  shaft  was  in  the  way, 
and  when  he  tried  the  other  side,  he  felt  the 
harness  cutting  into  his  side,  which  reminded 
him  that  he  was  not  in  the  stable,  and  a  horse's 
honorable  feeling  will  not  allow  of  its  lying  down, 
as  long  as  it  is  harnessed  to  the  cart.  There 
must  be  something  serious  the  matter  to  induce 
it  to  lie  down  in  harness,  for  a  horse  has  a  high 
sense  of  duty. 

Mate  Billeghi  now  turned  round  and  saw  the 
priest  standing  near  him. 

19 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  Hallo,  Janko !  Why,  how  you  have  grown ! 
How  surprised  your  mother  would  be  if  she  were 
alive!  Bother  this  rope,  I  did  make  a  firm  knot 
in  it!" 

The  priest  took  a  step  toward  the  cart,  where 
Billeghi  was  still  struggling  with  the  knot.  The 
words,  "  if  your  mother  were  alive,"  had  struck 
him  like  a  blow,  his  head  began  to  swim,  his  legs 
to  tremble. 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  my  mother?"  he  stam- 
mered. "  Is  my  mother  dead  ?" 

'  Yes,  poor  woman,  she  has  given  up  the  ghost. 
But"  (and  here  he  took  out  his  knife  and  began 
to  cut  the  rope)  "  here  is  your  little  sister,  Janko, 
that  is,  I  mean,  your  reverence;  my  memory  is 
as  weak  as  a  chicken's,  and  I  always  forget  whom 
I  am  talking  to.  I've  brought  your  reverence's 
little  sister;  where  shall  I  put  her  down?" 

And  with  that  he  lifted  up  the  basket  in  which 
the  child  was  sleeping  soundly  with  the  goose 
beside  her.  The  bird  seemed  to  be  acting  the 
part  of  nurse  to  her,  driving  off  the  flies  which 
tried  to  settle  on  her  little  red  mouth. 

The  autumn  sunlight  fell  on  the  basket  and  the 
sleeping  child,  and  Mate  was  standing  with  his 
watery  blue  eyes  fixed  on  the  priest's  face,  waiting 
for  a  word  or  a  sign  from  him. 

"  Dead !"  he  murmured  after  a  time.  "  Impos- 
sible. I  had  no  feeling  of  it."  He  put  his  hand 

20 


The  New  Priest  at  Glogova 

to  his  head,  saying  sadly,  "  No  one  told  me,  and 
I  was  not  there  at  the  funeral." 

"  I  was  not  there  either,"  said  Mate,  as  though 
that  would  console  the  other  for  his  absence ;  and 
then  added,  as  an  afterthought: 

"  God  Almighty  took  her  to  Himself,  He  called 
her  to  His  throne.  He  doesn't  leave  one  of  us 
here.  Bother  those  frogs,  now  I've  trodden  on 
one!" 

There  were  any  amount  of  them  in  the  weedy 
courtyard  of  the  Presbytery;  they  came  out  of 
the  holes  in  the  damp  walls  of  the  old  church. 

"Where  shall  I  put  the  child?"  repeated  Mr. 
Billeghi,  but  as  he  received  no  answer,  he  de- 
posited her  gently  on  the  small  veranda. 

The  priest  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground;  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  the  earth, 
with  the  houses  and  gardens,  Mate  Billeghi  and 
the  basket,  were  all  running  away,  and  only  he 
was  standing  there,  unable  to  move  one  way  or 
the  other.  From  the  Ukrica  woods  in  the  distance 
there  came  a  rustling  of  leaves,  seeming  to  bring 
with  it  a  sound  that  spoke  to  his  heart,  the  sound 
of  his  mother's  voice.  He  listened,  trembling, 
and  trying  to  distinguish  the  words.  Again  they 
are  repeated;  what  are  they? 

"  Janos,  Janos,  take  care  of  my  child !" 

But  while  Janos  was  occupied  in  listening  to 
voices  from  a  better  land,  Mate  was  getting  tired 

21 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


of  waiting,  and  muttering  something  to  himself 
about  not  getting  even  a  "  thank  you"  for  his 
trouble,  he  prepared  to  start. 

"  Well,  if  that's  the  way  they  do  things  in  these 
parts,  I'll  be  off,"  he  grumbled,  and  cracking  his 
whip  he  added,  "  Good-by,  your  reverence.  Gee- 
up,  Sarmany!" 

Father  Janos  still  gave  no  answer,  did  not  even 
notice  what  was  going  on  around  him,  and  the 
horses  were  moving  on,  Mate  Billeghi  walking 
beside  them,  for  they  had  to  go  uphill  now,  and 
the  good  man  was  muttering  to  himself  something 
about  its  being  the  way  of  the  world,  and  only 
natural  that  if  a  chicken  grows  into  a  peacock,  of 
course  the  peacock  does  not  remember  the  time 
when  it  was  a  chicken.  •  When  he  got  up 
to  the  top  of  the  hill  he  turned  round  and  saw 
the  priest  still  standing  in  the  same  place,  and, 
making  one  last  effort  to  attract  his  attention, 
he  shouted : 

"  Well,  I've  given  you  what  I  was  told  to,  so 
good-by." 

The  priest's  senses  at  last  returned  from  the 
paths  in  which  they  had  been  wandering,  far 
away,  with  his  mother.  In  imagination  he  was 
kneeling  at  her  death-bed,  and  with  her  last 
breath  she  was  bidding  him  take  care  of  his  little 
sister. 

There  was  no  need  for  it  to  be  written  nor  to 

22 


The  New  Priest  at  Glogova 

be  telegraphed  to  him;  there  were  higher  forces 
which  communicated  the  fact  to  him. 

Janos's  first  impulse  was  to  run  after  Mate,  and 
ask  him  to  stop  and  tell  him  all  about  his  mother, 
how  she  had  lived  during  the  last  two  years,  how 
she  had  died,  how  they  had  buried  her,  in  fact, 
everything.  But  the  cart  was  a  long  way  off  by 
now,  and,  besides,  his  eyes  at  that  moment  caught 
sight  of  the  basket  and  its  contents,  and  they  took 
up  his  whole  attention. 

His  little  sister  was  still  asleep  in  the  basket. 
The  young  priest  had  never  yet  seen  the  child, 
for  he  had  not  been  home  since  his  father's 
funeral,  and  she  was  not  born  then;  so  he  had 
only  heard  of  her  existence  from  his  mother's 
letters,  and  they  were  always  so  short.  Janos 
went  up  to  the  basket  and  looked  at  the  small  rosy 
face.  He  found  it  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to 
his  mother's,  and  as  he  looked  the  face  seemed 
to -grow  bigger,  and  he  saw  the  features  of  his 
mother  before  him;  but  the  vision  only  lasted 
a  minute,  and  the  child's  face  was  there  again. 
If  she  would  only  open  her  eyes !  But  they  were 
firmly  closed,  and  the  long  eyelashes  lay  like 
silken  fringes  on  her  cheeks. 

"  And  I  am  to  take  care  of  this  tiny  creature?" 
thought  Janos.  "  And  I  will  take  care  of  her. 
But  how  am  I  to  do  it?  I  have  nothing  to  live 
on  myself.  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

23 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


He  did  as  he  always  had  done  until  now,  when 
he  had  been  in  doubt,  and  turned  toward  the 
church  in  order  to  say  a  prayer  there.  The  church 
was  open,  and  two  old  women  were  inside,  white- 
washing the  walls.  So  the  priest  did  not  go  quite 
in  but  knelt  down  before  a  crucifix  at  the  entrance. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    UMBRELLA   AND    ST.    PETER. 

FATHER  JANOS  remained  kneeling  a  long  time 
and  did  not  notice  that  a  storm  was  coming  up. 
When  he  came  out  of  the  church  it  was  pouring 
in  torrents,  and  before  long  the  small  mountain 
streams  were  so  swollen  that  they  came  rushing 
down  into  the  village  street,  and  the  cattle  in 
their  fright  ran  lowing  into  their  stables. 

Janos's  first  thought  was  that  he  had  left  the 
child  on  the  veranda,  and  it  must  be  wet  through. 
He  ran  home  as  fast  as  he  could,  but  paused  with 
surprise  before  the  house.  The  basket  was  where 
he  had  left  it,  the  child  was  in  the  basket,  and  the 
goose  was  walking  about  in  the  yard.  The  rain 
was  still  coming  down  in  torrents,  the  veranda 
was  drenched,  but  on  the  child  not  a  drop  had 
fallen,  for  an  immense  red  umbrella  had  been 
spread  over  the  basket.  It  was  patched  and 
darned  to  such  an  extent  that  hardly  any  of  the 
original  stuff  was  left,  and  the  border  of  flowers 
round  it  was  all  but  invisible, 

25 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


The  young  priest  raised  his  eyes  in  gratitude 
to  Heaven,  and  taking  the  child  into  his  arms, 
carried  it,  under  the  red  umbrella,  into  his  room. 
The  child's  eyes  were  open  now;  they  were  a 
lovely  blue,  and  gazed  wonderingly  into  the 
priest's  face. 

"  It  is  really  a  blessing,"  he  murmured,  "  that 
the  child  did  not  get  wet  through ;  she  might  have 
caught  her  death  of  cold,  and  I  could  not  even 
have  given  her  dry  clothes." 

But  where  had  the  umbrella  come  from?  It 
was  incomprehensible,  for  in  the  whole  of  Glogova 
there  was  not  a  single  umbrella. 

In  the  next  yard  some  peasants  were  digging 
holes  for  the  water  to  run  into.  His  reverence 
asked  them  all  in  turn,  had  they  seen  no  one  witH 
the  child?  No,  they  had  seen  the  child,  but  as 
far  as  they  knew  no  one  had  been  near  it.  Old 
Widow  Adamecz,  who  had  run  home  from  the 
fields  with  a  shawl  over  her  head,  had  seen  some- 
thing red  and  round,  which  seemed  to  fall  from 
the  clouds  right  over  the  child's  head.  Might 
she  turn  to  stone  that  minute  if  it  were  not  true, 
and  she  was  sure  the  Virgin  Mary  had  sent  it 
down  from  Heaven  herself  to  the  poor  orphan 
child. 

Widow  Adamecz  was  a  regular  old  gossip; 
she  was  fond  of  a  drop  of  brandy  now  and  then, 
so  it  was  no  wonder  she  sometimes  saw  more 

26 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

than  she  ought  to  have  done.  The  summer  before, 
on  the  eve  of  the  feast  of  Sts.  Peter  and  Paul,  she 
had  seen  the  skies  open,  and  Heaven  was  before 
her ;  she  had  heard  the  angels  sing,  as  they  passed 
in  procession  before  God,  sitting  on  a  throne  of 
precious  stones.  And  among  them  she  had  seen 
her  grandson,  Janos  Plachta,  in  a  pretty  red 
waistcoat  which  she  herself  had  made  him  shortly 
before  his  death.  And  she  had  seen  many  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Glogova  who  had  died  within  the 
last  few  years,  and  they  were  all  dressed  in  the 
clothes  they  had  been  buried  in. 

You  can  imagine  that  after  that,  when  the 
news  of  her  vision  was  spread  abroad,  she  was 
looked  upon  as  a  very  holy  person  indeed.  All 
the  villagers  came  to  ask  if  she  had  seen  their 
dead  relations  in  the  procession ;  this  one's  daugh- 
ter, that  one's  father,  and  the  other  one's  "  poor 
husband!"  They  quite  understood  that  such  a 
miracle  was  more  likely  to  happen  to  her  than 
to  any  one  else,  for  a  miracle  had  been  worked 
on  her  poor  dead  father  Andras,  even  though  he 
had  been  looked  upon  in  life  as  something  of 
a  thief.  For  when  the  high  road  had  had  to  be 
made  broader  eight  years  before,  they  were 
obliged  to  take  a  bit  of  the  cemetery  in  order  to 
do  it,  and  when  they  had  opened  Andras's  grave, 
so  as  to  bury  him  again,  they  saw  with  astonish- 
ment that  he  had  a  long  beard,  though  five 

27 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


witnesses  swore  to  the  fact  that  at  the  time  of  his 
death  he  was  clean-shaven. 

So  they  were  all  quite  sure  that  old  Andras 
was  in  Heaven,  and  having  been  an  old  cheat 
all  his  life  he  would,  of  course,  manage  even  up 
above  to  leave  the  door  open  a  bit  now  and  then, 
so  that  his  dear  Agnes  could  have  a  peep  at  what 
was  going  on. 

But  Pal  Kvapka,  the  bell-ringer,  had  another 
tale  to  tell.  He  said  that  when  he  had  gone  up 
the  belfry  to  ring  the  clouds  away,  and  had  turned 
round  for  a  minute,  he  saw  the  form  of  an  old 
Jew  crossing  the  fields  beyond  the  village,  and 
he  had  in  his  hands  that  immense  red  thing  like 
a  plate,  which  his  reverence  had  found  spread 
over  the  basket.  Kvapka  had  thought  nothing 
of  it  at  the  time,  for  he  was  sleepy,  and  the  wind 
blew  the  dust  in  his  eyes,  but  he  could  take  an 
oath  that  what  he  had  told  them  had  really  taken 
place.  (And  Pal  Kvapka  was  a  man  who  always 
spoke  the  truth.)  Others  had  also  seen  the  Jew. 
He  was  old,  tall,  gray-haired,  his  back  was  bent, 
and  he  had  a  crook  in  his  hand,  and  when  the  wind 
carried  his  hat  away,  they  saw  that  he  had  a  large 
bald  place  at  the  back  of  his  head. 

"  He  was  just  like  the  picture  of  St.  Peter  in 
the  church,"  said  the  sacristan,  who  had  seen  him 
without  his  hat.  "  He  was  like  it  in  every  respect," 
he  repeated,  "  except  that  he  had  no  keys  in  his 

28 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

hand."  From  the  meadow  he  had  cut  across 
Stropov's  clover-field,  where  the  Kratki's  cow, 
which  had  somehow  got  loose,  made  a  rush  at 
him;  in  order  to  defend  himself  he  struck  at  it 
with  his  stick  (and  from  that  time,  you  can  ask 
the  Kratki  family  if  it  is  not  true,  the  cow  gave 
fourteen  pints  of  milk  a  day,  whereas  they  used 
to  have  the  greatest  difficulty  in  coaxing  four 
pints  from  it). 

At  the  other  end  of  the  village  the  old  man 
had  asked  the  miller's  servant-girl  which  was  the 
way  to  Lehota,  and  Erzsi  had  told  him,  upon 
which  he  had  started  on  the  footpath  up  the  moun- 
tains. Erzsi  said  she  was  sure,  now  she  came  to 
think  of  it,  that  he  had  a  glory  round  his  head. 

Why,  of  course  it  must  have  been  St.  Peter! 
Why  should  it  not  have  been  ?  There  was  a  time 
when  he  walked  about  on  earth,  and  there  are 
many  stories  told  still  as  to  all  he  had  done  then. 
And  what  had  happened  once  could  happen  again. 
The  wonderful  news  spread  from  house  to  house, 
that  God  had  sent  down  from  Heaven  a  sort  of 
red-linen  tent,  to  keep  the  rain  off  the  priest's 
little  sister,  and  had  chosen  St.  Peter  himself  for 
the  mission.  Thereupon  followed  a  good  time 
for  the  child,  she  became  quite  the  fashion  in  the 
village.  The  old  women  began  to  make  cakes 
for  her,  also  milk  puddings,  and  various  other 
delicacies.  His  reverence  had  nothing  to  do  but 

29 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


answer  the  door  all  day,  and  receive  from  his 
visitors  plates,  dishes,  or  basins  wrapped  up  in 
clean  cloths.  The  poor  young  priest  could  not 
make  out  what  was  going  on  in  his  new  parish. 

"  Oh,  your  reverence,  please,  I  heard  your  little 
sister  had  come,  so  I've  brought  her  a  trifle  for 
her  dinner;  of  course  it  might  be  better,  but  it 
is  the  best  such  poor  folks  as  we  can  give.  Our 
hearts  are  good,  your  reverence,  but  our  flour 
might  be  better  than  it  is,  for  that  good-for- 
nothing  miller  burned  it  a  bit  the  last  time — at 
least,  that  part  of  it  which  he  did  not  keep  for 
his  own  use.  May  I  look  at  the  little  angel? 
They  say  she's  a  little  beauty." 

Of  course  his  reverence  allowed  them  all  to 
look  at  her  in  turn,  to  pat  her  and  smooth  her 
hair;  some  of  them  even  kissed  her  tiny  feet. 

The  priest  was  obliged  to  turn  away  now  and 
then  to  hide  the  tears  of  gratitude.  He  reproached 
himself,  too,  for  his  hard  thoughts  of  the  good 
villagers.  "  How  I  have  misjudged  them !"  he 
thought  to  himself.  "There  are  no  better  peo- 
ple in  the  world.  And  how  they  love  the 
child!" 

At  tea-time  Widow  Adamecz  appeared  on  the 
scene ;  until  now  she  had  not  troubled  much  about 
the  new  priest.  She  'considered  herself  entitled 
to  a  word  in  the  management  of  the  ecclesiastical 
affairs  of  the  village,  and  based  her  rights  on  the 

30 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

fact  of  her  father  having  grown  a  beard  in  his 
grave,  which,  of  course,  gave  him  a  place  among 
the  saints  at  once. 

"  Your  reverence,"  she  began,  "  you  will  want 
some  one  to  look  after  the  child." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  I  ought  to  have  some  one,"  he 
replied,  "  but  the  parish  is  poor,  and  ..." 

"  Nobody  is  poor  but  the  devil,"  burst  out 
Widow  Adamecz,  "  arid  he's  poor  because  he  has 
no  soul.  But  we  have  souls.  And  after  all,  your 
reverence  won't  know  how  to  dress  and  undress 
a  child,  nor  how  to  wash  it  and  plait  its  hair.  And 
then  she  will  often  be  hungry,  and  you  can't  take 
her  across  to  the  schoolmaster's  each  time.  You 
must  have  some  one  to  cook  at  home,  your  rever- 
ence. The  sacristan  is  all  very  well  for  sweeping 
and  tidying  up  a  bit,  but  what  does  he  know  about 
children?" 

"True,  true;  but  where  am  I  to    .    .    ." 

"  Where  ?  And  am  /  not  here  ?  The  Lord 
created  me  for  a  priest's  cook,  I'm  sure." 

"  Yes,  I  daresay.  But  how  am  I  to  pay  your 
wages  ?" 

Widow  Adamecz  put  her  hands  on  her  hips, 
and  planted  herself  in  front  of  Father  Janos. 

"  Never  mind  about  that,  your  honor.  Leave 
it  to  God  and  to  me.  He  will  pay  me.  I  shall 
enter  your  service  this  evening,  and  shall  bring 
all  my  saucepans  and  things  with  me." 

31 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


The  priest  was  more  and  more  surprised,  but 
even  more  astonished  was  his  friend  Urszinyi 
when  he  came  over  toward  evening  and  the  priest 
related  the  events  of  the  day,  and  told  him  of 
Widow  Adamecz's  offer. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  "Widow  Adamecz? 
That  old  witch?  And  without  payment?  Why, 
Janos,  a  greater  miracle  never  yet  happened.  An 
inhabitant  of  Glogova  working  for  payment  from 
Heaven!  You  seem  to  have  bewitched  the 
people." 

The  priest  only  smiled,  but  his  heart  was  full 
of  gratitude.  He  also  felt  that  a  miracle  had 
taken  place ;  it  was  all  so  strange,  so  incomprehen- 
sible. But  he  guessed  at  the  cause  of  the  change. 
The  prayer  he  had  said  at  the  entrance  to  the 
church  had  been  heard,  and  this  was  the  answer. 
Yes,  it  really  was  a  miracle!  He  had  not  heard 
all  the  stories  that  were  spread  abroad  about  the 
red  umbrella,  and  he  only  smiled  at  those  that 
had  come  to  his  ears.  It  is  true  he  did  not  under- 
stand himself  how  the  umbrella  came  to  be  where 
he  had  found  it;  he  was  surprised  at  first,  but 
had  not  thought  any  more  about  it,  and  had  hung 
it  on  a  nail  in  his  room,  so  that  if  the  owner 
asked  for  it  he  could  have  it  at  once,  though  it 
was  not  really  worth  sixpence. 

But  the  day's  events  were  not  yet  done.  Toward 
evening  the  news  spread  that  the  wife  of  the 

32 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

miller,  the  village  nabob,  had  been  drowned  in 
the  Bjela  Voda,  which  was  very  swollen  from  the 
amount  of  rain  that  had  fallen.  The  unfortunate 
woman  had  crossed  the  stepping-stones  in  order 
to  bring  back  her  geese,  which  had  strayed  to  the 
other  side.  She  had  brought  back  two  of  them, 
one  under  each  arm,  but  as  she  was  re-crossing 
to  fetch  the  third,  her  foot  slipped,  and  she  fell 
into  the  stream.  In  the  morning  there  had  been 
so  little  water  there,  that  a  goat  could  have  drank 
it  all  in  half  a  minute,  and  by  midday  it  was 
swollen  to  such  an  extent  that  the  poor  woman 
was  drowned  in  it.  They  looked  for  her  the 
whole  afternoon  in  the  cellar,  in  the  loft,  every- 
where they  could  think  of,  until  in  the  evening 
her  body  was  taken  out  of  the  water  near  Lehota. 
There  some  people  recognized  her,  and  a  man  was 
sent  over  on  horseback  to  tell  Mihaly  Gongoly  of 
the  accident.  All  this  caused  great  excitement 
in .  the  village,  and  the  people  stood  about  in 
groups,  talking  of  the  event. 

"  Yes,  God  takes  the  rich  ones  too,"  they  said. 

Gyorgy  Klincsok  came  running  in  to  the  priest. 

"  There  will  be  a  grand  funeral  the  day  after 
to-morrow,"  he  exclaimed. 

The  sacristan  appeared  at  the  schoolmaster's 
in  the  hope  of  a  glass  of  brandy  to  celebrate  the 
event. 

"  Collect  your  thoughts,"  he  exclaimed,  "  there 

33 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


will  be  a  grand  funeral,  and  they  will  expect  some 
grand  verses." 

Two  days  later  the  funeral  took  place,  and  it 
was  a  long  time  since  anything  so  splendid  had 
been  seen  in  Glogova.  Mr.  Gongoly  had  sent  for 
the  priest  from  Lehota  too,  for,  as  he  said,  why 
should  not  his  wife  have  two  priests  to  read  the 
burial  service  over  her.  He  sent  all  the  way  to 
Besztercebanya  for  the  coffin,  and  they  took  the 
wooden  cross  that  was  to  be  put  at  the  head  of 
the  grave  to  Kopanyik  to  have  it  painted  black, 
with  the  name  and  the  date  of  her  death  in  white 
letters. 

There  were  crowds  of  people  at  the  funeral  in 
spite  of  the  bad  weather,  and  just  as  the  priest 
was  starting  in  full  canonicals,  with  all  the  little 
choir-boys  in  their  clean  surplices,  it  began  to 
pour  again;  so  Father  Janos  turned  to  Kvapka, 
the  sacristan,  and  said: 

"  Run  back  as  fast  as  you  can  and  fetch  the 
umbrella  out  of  my  room." 

Kvapka  turned  and  stared;  how  was  he  to 
know  what  an  umbrella  was? 

"Well,"  said  Father  Janos,  "if  you  like  it 
better,  fetch  the  large,  round  piece  of  red  linen 
I  found  two  days  ago  spread  over  my  little  sister." 

"  Ah,  now  I  understand !" 

The  priest  took  shelter  in  a  cottage  until  the 
fleet-footed  Kvapka  returned  with  the  umbrella, 

34 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

which  his  reverence,  to  the  great  admiration  of 
the  crowd,  with  one  sweeping  movement  of  his 
hand  spread  out  in  such  a  fashion  that  it  looked 
like  a  series  of  bats'  wings  fastened  together. 
Then,  taking  hold  of  the  handle,  he  raised  it  so 
as  to  cover  his  head,  and  walked  on  with  stately 
step,  without  getting  wet  a  bit ;  for  the  drops  fell 
angrily  on  the  strange  tent  spread  over  him,  and, 
not  being  able  to  touch  his  reverence,  fell  splash- 
ing on  to  the  ground.  The  umbrella  was  the 
great  attraction  for  all  the  peasants  at  the  funeral, 
and  they  exchanged  many  whispered  remarks 
about  the  (to  them)  strange  thing. 

"  That's  what  St.  Peter  brought,"  they  said. 

Only  the  beautiful  verses  the  schoolmaster  had 
composed  for  the  occasion  distracted  their  atten- 
tion for  a  while,  and  sobs  broke  forth  as  the 
various  relations  heard  their  names  mentioned  in 
the  lines  in  which  the  dead  woman  was  supposed 
to  be  taking  leave  of  them: 

"  Good-by,  good-by,  my  dearest  friends ;  Pal 
Lajko  my  brother,  Gyorgy  Klincsok  my  cousin," 
etc. 

The  whole  of  Pal  Lajko's  household  began  to 
weep  bitterly,  and  Mrs.  Klincsok  exclaimed  rap- 
turously : 

"  How  on  earth  does  he  manage  to  compose 
such  beautiful  lines!" 

.Which  exclamation  inspired  the  schoolmaster 

35 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


with  fresh  courage,  and,  raising  his  voice,  he 
continued  haranguing  the  assembled  friends  in 
the  dead  woman's  name,  not  forgetting  a  single 
one,  and  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  among  them. 

For  some  time  after  they  had  buried  Mrs. 
Gongoly  the  grand  doings  at  the  funeral  were 
still  the  talk  of  the  place,  and  even  at  the  funeral 
the  old  women  had  picked  out  pretty  Anna 
Tyurek  as  the  successor  of  Mrs.  Gongoly,  and 
felt  sure  it  would  not  be  long  before  her  noted 
"  mentyek"  had  an  owner.  (Every  well-to-do 
Slovak  peasant  buys  a  long  cloak  of  sheepskin 
for  his  wife;  it  is  embroidered  outside  in  bright 
colors,  and  inside  is  the  long  silky  hair  of  the 
Hungarian  sheep.  It  is  only  worn  on  Sundays 
and  holidays,  and  is  passed  on  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another.) 

The  mourners  had  hardly  recovered  from  the 
large  quantities  of  brandy  they  had  imbibed  in 
order  to  drown  their  sorrow,  when  they  had  to 
dig  a  new  grave ;  for  Janos  Sranko  had  followed 
Mrs.  Gongoly.  In  olden  times  they  had  been 
good  friends,  before  Mrs.  Gongoly  was  engaged ; 
and  now  it  seemed  as  though  they  had  arranged 
their  departure  from  this  world  to  take  place  at 
the  same  time. 

They  found  Sranko  dead  in  his  bed,  the  morn- 
ing after  the  funeral ;  he  had  died  of  an  apoplectic 
fit.  Sranko  was  a  well-to-do  man,  in  fact  a 

36 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

"magna."  (The  fifteen  richest  peasants  in  a  Slovak 
village  are  called  "magnas"  or  "magnates.")  He 
had  three  hundred  sheep  grazing  in  his  meadows 
and  several  acres  of  ploughed  land,  so  he  ought 
to  have  a  grand  funeral  too.  And  Mrs.  Sranko 
was  not  idle,  for  she  went  herself  to  the  school- 
master, and  then  to  the  priest,  and  said  she  wished 
everything  to  be  as  it  had  been  at  Mrs.  Gongoly's 
funeral.  Let  it  cost  what  it  might,  but  the 
Srankos  were  not  less  than  the  Gongolys.  She 
wished  two  priests  to  read  the  funeral  service, 
and  four  choir-boys  to  attend  in  their  best  black 
cassocks,  the  bell  was  to  toll  all  the  time,  and 
so  on,  and  so  on.  Father  Janos  nodded  his 
head. 

"  Very  well,  all  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  he  said, 
and  then  proceeded  to  reckon  out  what  it  would 
cost. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Mrs.  Sranko,  "but 
please,  your  reverence,  put  the  red  thing  in  too, 
and  let  us  see  how  much  more  it  will  cost." 

"What  red  thing?" 

"  Why,  what  you  held  over  your  head  at  Mrs. 
Gongoly's  funeral.  Oh,  it  was  lovely !" 

The  young  priest  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  But  that  is  impossible,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Sranko  jumped  up,  and  planted  herself 
before  him,  with  her  arms  crossed. 

"And  why  is  it  impossible  I  should  like  to 

37 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


know?  My  money  is  as  good  as  the  Gongolys', 
isn't  it?" 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Sranko,  it  was  raining 
then,  and  to-morrow  we  shall  in  all  probability 
have  splendid  weather." 

But  it  was  no  use  arguing  with  the  good 
woman,  for  she  spoke  the  dialect  of  the  country 
better  than  Father  Janos  did. 

"  Raining,  was  it  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "  Well,  all 
the  more  reason  you  should  bring  it  with  you 
to-morrow,  your  honor ;  at  all  events  it  won't  get 
wet.  And,  after  all,  my  poor  dear  husband  was 
worthy  of  it ;  he  was  no  worse  than  Mrs.  Gongoly. 
Every  one  honored  him,  and  he  did  a  lot  for  the 
Church;  why,  it  was  he  who  five  years  ago  sent 
for  those  lovely  colored  candles  we  have  on  the 
altar ;  they  came  all  the  way  from  Besztercebanya. 
And  the  white  altar-cloth  my  husband's  sister 
embroidered.  So  you  see  we  have  a  right  to  the 
red  thing." 

"  But  I  can't  make  myself  ridiculous  by  burying 
some  one  with  an  umbrella  held  over  me  when 
the  sun  is  shining.  You  must  give  up  the  idea, 
Mrs.  Sranko." 

Thereupon  Mrs.  Sranko  burst  into  tears.  What 
had  she  done  to  be  put  to  such  shame,  and  to  be 
refused  the  right  to  give  her  husband  all  the 
honors  due  to  the  dead,  and  which  were  a  comfort 
to  the  living  too?  What  would  the  villagers 

38 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

say  of  her?  They  would  say,  "  Mrs.  Sranko  did 
not  even  give  her  husband  a  decent  funeral,  they 
only  threw  him  into  the  grave  like  a  beggar." 

"  Please  do  it,  your  reverence,"  she  begged 
tearfully,  and  kept  on  wiping  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief,  until  one  of  the  corners  which  had 
been  tied  in  a  knot  came  unfastened,  and  out  fell 
a  ten-florin  note.  Mrs.  Sranko  picked  it  up,  and 
put  it  carefully  on  the  table. 

"  I'll  give  this  over  and  above  the  other  sum," 
she  said,  "  only  let  us  have  all  the  pomp  possible, 
your  honor." 

At  this  moment  Widow  Adamecz  rushed  in 
from  the  kitchen,  flourishing  an  immense  wooden 
spoon  in  the  air. 

"  Yes,  your  reverence,  Sranko  was  a  good, 
pious  man ;  not  all  the  gossip  you  hear  about  him 
is  true.  And  even  if  it  were,  it  would  touch  Mrs. 
Gongoly  as  much  as  him,  may  God  rest  her  soul. 
If  the  holy  umbrella  was  used  at  her  funeral,  it 
can  be  used  at  his  too.  If  God  is  angry  at  its 
having  been  used  for  her,  He  will  only  be  a  little 
more  angry  at  its  being  used  for  him ;  and  if  He 
was  not  angry  then,  He  won't  be  angry  now 
either." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Widow 
Adamecz,  talking  such  nonsense.  Don't  bother 
me  any  more  with  your  superstitions.  The  whole 
thing  is  simply  ridiculous." 

39 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


But  the  two  women  were  not  to  be  put  off. 

"  We  know  what  we  know,"  they  said,  nodding 
their  heads  sagely,  "  your  honor  can't  deceive  us." 

And  they  worried  him  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  was  obliged  at  last  to  give  way,  and  agreed 
to  bring  the  red  umbrella  to  Janos  Sranko's 
funeral,  but  he  added  as  an  afterthought,  "  That 
is,  of  course,  if  the  owner  does  not  come  for  it 
before  then.  For  it  is  certain  that  some  one  left 
it  here,  and  if  they  come  for  it,  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  give  it  them." 

"  Well,"  said  Widow  Adamecz,  "  as  far  as  that 
goes  we  can  sleep  in  peace,  for  the  one  who 
brought  it  only  walks  on  our  planet  once  in  a 
thousand  years." 

Nobody  appeared  to  claim  the  umbrella,  and 
so  the  next  day,  though  it  was  a  lovely  afternoon, 
and  not  a  cloud  was  to  be  seen  on  the  horizon,  the 
young  priest  opened  his  umbrella,  and  followed 
the  coffin  to  the  grave. 

Four  strong  men  carried  the  bier  on  which  the 
coffin  was  placed,  and  as  chance  willed  it,  when 
they  passed  the  smithy,  one  of  the  bearers  stum- 
bled and  fell,  which  so  startled  the  one  walking 
behind  him,  that  he  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  the 
bier  lurched  to  one  side,  and  the  coffin  fell  to  the 
ground. 

It  cracked,  then  the  fastenings  gave  way,  and 
it  broke  to  pieces ;  first  the  embroidered  shirt  was 

40 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

visible,  and  then  the  supposed  dead  man  himself, 
who  awoke  from  the  trance  he  had  been  in,  moved 
slightly,  and  whispered : 

"Where  am  I?" 

Of  course  every  one  was  as  surprised  as  they 
could  be,  and  there  was  plenty  of  running  back- 
ward and  forward  to  the  smithy  for  blankets, 
shawls,  and  pillows,  of  which  they  made  a  bed 
in  a  cart  that  was  outside  waiting  to  be  repaired. 
Into  this  they  put  the  man  on  whom  such  a 
miracle  had  been  worked,  and  the  funeral  proces- 
sion returned  as  a  triumphant  one  to  Sranko's 
house.  He  had  so  far  recovered  on  the  way  home 
as  to  ask  for  something  to  eat  immediately  on  his 
arrival. 

They  brought  him  a  jug  of  milk,  at  which 
he  shook  his  head.  Lajko  offered  him  a  flask  of 
brandy  he  had  taken  with  him  to  cheer  his  droop- 
ing spirits.  He  smiled  and  accepted  it. 

This  ridiculous  incident  was  the  beginning  of 
the  umbrella  legend,  which  spread  and  spread 
beyond  the  village,  beyond  the  mountains,  increas- 
ing in  detail  as  it  went.  If  a  mark  or  impression 
were  found  on  a  rock  it  was  said  to  be  the  print 
of  St.  Peter's  foot.  If  a  flower  of  particularly 
lovely  color  were  found  growing  on  the  meadow, 
St.  Peter's  stick  had  touched  the  spot.  Every- 
thing went  to  prove  that  St.  Peter  had  been  in 
Glogova  lately.  After  all  it  was  no  common  case. 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


The  only  real  mystery  in  the  whole  affair  was 
how  the  umbrella  had  come  to  be  spread  over 
little  Veronica's  basket;  but  that  was  enough  to 
make  the  umbrella  noted.  And  its  fame  spread 
far  and  wide,  as  far  as  the  Bjela  Voda  flows; 
the  Slovak  peasants  told  the  tale  sitting  round 
the  fire,  with  various  additions,  according  to  the 
liveliness  of  their  imagination.  They  imagined 
St.  Peter  opening  the  gates  of  Heaven,  and  com- 
ing out  with  the  umbrella  in  his  hand,  in  order  to 
bring  it  down  to  the  priest's  little  sister.  The 
only  question  they  could  not  settle  was  how  St. 
Peter  had  got  down  to  the  earth.  But  they 
thought  he  must  have  stood  on  a  cloud  which  let 
him  gently  down,  and  set  him  on  the  top  of  one  of 
the  neighboring  hills. 

Then  they  discussed  the  power  the  umbrella 
possessed  of  raising  the  dead  to  life,  and  so  the 
legend  was  spread  abroad.  And  whenever  a  rich 
peasant  died,  even  in  the  villages  miles  off,  Father 
Janos  was  sent  for,  with  the  red  umbrella,  to  read 
the  burial  services.  He  was  also  sent  for  to  sick 
persons  who  wished  the  umbrella  spread  over 
them  while  they  confessed  their  sins.  It  must 
have  a  good  effect,  and  either  the  sick  person 
would  recover,  or  if  he  did  not  do  that  he  was  at 
least  sanctified. 

If  a  newly  married  couple  wished  to  do  things 
very  grandly  (and  they  generally  do),  they  were 

42 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

not  only  married  at  home  by  their  own  priest,  but 
they  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Glogova  in  order  to 
join  hands  once  more  under  the  sacred  umbrella. 
And  that,  to  them,  was  the  real  ceremony.  The 
bell-ringer  held  it  over  their  heads,  and  in  return 
many  a  piece  of  stiver  found  its  way  into  his 
pocket.  And  as  for  the  priest,  money  and  presents 
simply  poured  in  upon  him.  At  first  he  fought 
against  all  this  superstition,  but  after  a  while 
even  he  began  to  believe  that  the  red  umbrella, 
which  day  by  day  got  more  faded  and  shabby,  was 
something  out  of  the  common.  Had  it  not  ap- 
peared on  the  scene  as  though  in  answer  to  his 
prayer,  and  was  it  not  the  source  of  all  his  good 
fortune  ? 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  had  prayed,  "unless  Thou 
workest  a  miracle,  how  am  I  to  bring  up  the 
child?" 

And  lo  and  behold,  the  miracle  had  been 
worked !  Money,  food,  all  the  necessaries  of  life 
flowed  from  that  ragged  old  umbrella.  Its  fame 
spread  to  higher  circles  too.  The  Bishop  of 
Besztercebanya  heard  of  it  and  sent  for  Father 
Janos  and  the  umbrella;  and  after  having  exam- 
ined it  and  heard  the  whole  story,  he  crossed  his 
hands  on  his  breast  and  exclaimed :  "  Deus  est 
omnipotens."  Which  was  equivalent  to  saying 
he  believed  in  it. 

A  few  weeks  later  he  went  still  further,  and  sent 

43 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


orders  for  the  umbrella  to  be  kept  in  the  church, 
instead  of  in  the  priest's  room.  Upon  which 
Father  Janos  answered  that  in  reality  the  um- 
brella belonged  to  his  little  sister,  who  was  still 
a  minor,  so  that  he  had  no  right  to  it,  nor  to  give 
it  away.  But  he  was  sure,  as  soon  as  Veronica 
was  of  age,  she  would  make  a  present  of  it  to 
the  church.  But  the  umbrella  not  only  brought 
good  fortune  to  the  priest,  who  soon  started  a 
small  farm,  and  in  a  few  years  built  himself  a  new 
house,  and  kept  a  horse  and  trap,  but  it  made 
a  great  difference  in  Glogova  too.  Every  summer 
numbers  of  ladies  came  from  the  small  watering- 
places  round  about,  very  often  countesses  too 
(mostly  old  countesses),  in  order  to  say  a  prayer 
under  the  umbrella,  and  for  these  an  inn  was  built 
opposite  the  priest's  house,  called  the  "  Miraculous 
Umbrella."  In  fact,  Glogova  increased  in  size 
and  importance  from  day  to  day. 

In  time  the  villagers  began  to  feel  ashamed  of 
the  simple  wooden  belfry,  and  had  a  tower  built 
to  the  church,  and  hung  two  bells  in  it  from 
Besztercebanya.  Janos  Sranko  had  a  splendid 
statue  of  the  Holy  Family  erected  in  front  of  the 
church,  to  commemorate  his  resurrection  from 
the  dead.  The  governess  (for  a  time  Father 
Janos  had  a  governess  for  little  Veronica)  filled 
the  priest's  garden  with  dahlias,  fuchsias,  and 

.       44 


The  Umbrella  and  St.  Peter 

other  flowers  which  the  inhabitants  of  Glogova 
had  never  yet  seen. 

Everything  improved  and  was  beautified  (ex- 
cept Widow  Adamecz,  who  got  uglier  day  by 
day),  and  the  villagers  even  went  so  far  as  to 
discuss  on  Sunday  afternoons  the  advisability  of 
building  a  chapel  upon  the  mountain  St.  Peter 
had  been  seen  on,  in  order  to  make  it  a  place  of 
pilgrimage  and  attract  even  more  visitors. 


The  Gregorics  Family 


PART  II 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   TACTLESS    MEMBER   OF   THE   FAMILY. 

MANY  years  before  our  story  begins,  there 
lived  in  Besztercebanya  a  man  of  the  name  of 
Pal  Gregorics,  who  was  always  called  a  tactless 
man,  whereas  all  his  life  was  spent  in  trying  to 
please  others.  Pal  Gregorics  was  always  chasing 
Popularity,  and  instead  of  finding  it  came  face  to 
face  with  Criticism,  a  much  less  pleasing  figure. 
He  was  born  nine  months  after  his  father's  death, 
an  act  of  tactlessness  which  gave  rise  to  plenty  of 
gossip,  and  much  unpleasantness  to  his  mother, 
who  was  a  thoroughly  good,  honest  woman.  If 
he  had  only  arrived  a  little  earlier  .  .  .  but  after 
all  he  could  not  help  it.  As  far  as  the  other 
Gregorics  were  concerned,  he  had  better  not  have 
been  born  at  all,  for  of  course  the  estates  were  cut 
up  more  than  they  would  otherwise  have  been. 

The  child  was  weak  and  sickly,  and  his 
grown-up  brothers  always  hoped  for  his  death; 
however,  he  did  not  die,  but  grew  up,  and  when 
of  age  took  possession  of  his  fortune,  most  of 

49 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


which  he  had  inherited  from  his  mother,  who  had 
died  during  his  minority  and  left  him  her  whole 
fortune;  whereas  the  children  of  the  first  wife 
only  had  their  share  of  the  father's  fortune,  which, 
however,  was  not  to  be  sneered  at,  for  old  Gre- 
gorics had  done  well  in  the  wine  trade.  In  those 
days  it  was  easier  to  get  on  in  that  line  than  it 
is  now,  for,  in  the  first  place,  there  was  wine  in 
the  country,  and  in  the  second  place  there  were  no 
Jews.  In  these  days  there  is  plenty  of  Danube 
water  in  the  wine-cellars,  but  not  much  juice  of 
the  grapes. 

Nature  had  blessed  Pal  Gregoricswith  a  freckly 
face  and  red  hair,  which  made  people  quote  the 
old  saying,  "  Red-haired  people  are  never 
good." 

So  Pal  Gregorics  made  up  his  mind  to  prove 
that  it  was  untrue.  All  these  old  sayings  are  like 
pots  in  which  generations  have  been  cooking  for 
ages,  and  Pal  Gregorics  intended  to  break  one 
of  them.  He  meant  to  be  "  as  good  as  a  piece  of 
bread,  and  as  soft  as  butter,  which  allows  itself 
to  be  spread  equally  well  on  white  bread  or  black." 
(This  is  a  favorite  phrase  among  the  peasants, 
when  describing  a  very  good  man.) 

And  he  was  as  good  a  man  as  you  could  wish 
to  see,  but  what  was  the  good  of  it?  Some  evil 
spirit  always  seemed  to  accompany  him  and 
induce  people  to  misunderstand  his  intentions. 

So 


The  Tactless  Member 

The  day  he  came  back  from  Pest,  where  he 
had  been  completing  his  studies,  he  went  into 
a  tobacconist's  shop  and  bought  some  fine 
Havanas,  which  at  once  set  all  the  tongues  in 
Besztercebanya  wagging. 

"  The  good-for-nothing  fellow  smokes  seven- 
penny  cigars,  does  he?  That  is  a  nice  way  to 
begin.  He'll  die  in  the  workhouse.  Oh,  if  his 
poor  dead  father  could  rise  from  his  grave  and 
see  him!  Why,  the  old  man  used  to  mix  dry 
potato  leaves  with  his  tobacco  to  make  it  seem 
more,  and  poured  the  dregs  of  the  coffee  on  it  to 
make  it  burn  slower." 

Pal  Gregorics  heard  that  he  had  displeased  the 
good  townsfolk  by  smoking  such  dear  cigars,  and 
immediately  took  to  short  halfpenny  ones.  But 
this  did  not  suit  them  either,  and  they  remarked : 

"  Really,  Pal  Gregorics  is  about  the  meanest 
man  going,  he'll  be  worse  than  his  father  in 
time!" 

Gregorics  felt  very  vexed  at  being  called  mean, 
and  decided  to  take  the  very  next  opportunity  to 
prove  the  contrary.  The  opportunity  presented 
itself  in  the  form  of  a  ball,  given  in  aid  of  a  hos- 
pital, and  of  which  the  Mayoress  of  the  town 
was  patroness.  The  programme  announced  that 
though  the  tickets  were  two  florins  each,  any 
larger  sum  would  be  gratefully  accepted.  So  Pal 
Gregorics  gave  twenty  florins  for  his  two-florin 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


ticket,  thinking  to  himself  "  They  shan't  say  I 
am  mean  this  time." 

Upon  that  the  members  of  the  committee  put 
their  heads  together  and  decided  that  Pal  Gregor- 
ics  was  a  tactless  fellow.  It  was  the  greatest 
impertinence  on  his  part  to  outbid  the  Mayor,  and 
a  baron  to  boot !  Baron  Radvanszky  had  given 
ten  florins  for  his  ticket,  and  Gregorics  throws 
down  twenty.  Why,  it  was  an  insult!  The  son 
of  a  wine  merchant!  What  things  do  happen  in 
the  nineteenth  century,  to  be  sure!  Whatever 
Pal  Gregorics  did  was  wrong;  if  he  quarrelled 
with  some  one  and  would  not  give  in,  they  said 
he  was  a  brawler;  and  if  he  gave  in,  he  was  a 
coward. 

Though  he  had  studied  law,  he  did  nothing 
particular  at  first,  only  drove  to  his  estate  a  mile 
or  two  out  of  the  town  and  spent  a  few  hours 
shooting;  or  he  went  for  a  few  days  to  Vienna, 
where  he  had  a  house  inherited  from  his  mother ; 
and  the  rest  of  his  time  he  spent  in  Beszterce- 
banya. 

"  Pal  Gregorics,"  they  said,  "  is  a  lazy  fellow; 
he  does  nothing  useful  from  one  year's  end  to 
the  other.  Why  are  such  useless  creatures  allowed 
to  live?" 

Pal  heard  this  too,  and  quite  agreed  with  them 
that  he  ought  to  get  some  work  to  do,  and  not 
waste  his  life  as  he  was  doing.  Of  course,  every 

52 


The  Tactless  Member 

one  should  earn  the  bread  they  eat.  So  he  looked 
for  some  employment  in  the  town.  That  was 
enough  to  set  all  the  tongues  wagging  again. 
What?  Gregorics  wanted  work  in  the  town? 
Was  he  not  ashamed  of  himself,  trying  to  take 
the  bread  out  of  poor  men's  mouths,  when  he  had 
plenty  of  cake  for  himself?  Let  him  leave  the 
small  amount  of  employment  there  was  in  the 
town  to  those  who  really  needed  it.  Gregorics 
quite  understood  the  force  of  this  argument,  and 
gave  up  his  idea.  He  now  turned  his  thoughts 
toward  marriage,  and  determined  to  start  a  fam- 
ily; after  all  that  was  as  good  an  occupation  as 
any  other. 

So  he  began  to  frequent  various  houses  where 
there  were  pretty  girls  to  be  met,  and  where  he, 
being  a  good  match,  was  well  received;  but  his 
step-brothers,  \vho  were  always  in  hopes  that  the 
delicate  little  man  would  not  live  long,  did  their 
best  to  upset  his  plans  in  this  case  too.  So  Pal 
Gregorics  got  so  many  refusals  one  after  the 
other,  that  he  was  soon  renowned  in  the  whole 
neighborhood.  Later  on  he  could  have  found 
many  who  would  have  been  glad  of  an  offer  from 
him,  but  they  were  ashamed  to  let  him  see  it. 
After  all,  how  could  they  marry  a  man  whom  so 
many  girls  had  refused? 

On  the  eve  of  St.  Andrew's  any  amount  of 
lead  was  melted  by  the  young  girls  of  the  town, 

53 


St.   Peter's   Umbrella 


but  not  one  of  them  saw  in  the  hardened  mass 
the  form  of  Gregorics.  In  fact,  none  of  the 
young  girls  wanted  to  marry  him.  What  they 
looked  for  was  romance,  not  money.  Perhaps 
some  old  maid  would  have  jumped  at  his  offer, 
but  between  the  young  maids  and  the  old  maids 
there  is  a  great  difference — they  belong  to  two 
different  worlds.  The  young  girls  were  told  that 
Pal  Gregorics  spat  blood,  and  of  course,  the 
moment  they  heard  that,  they  would  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  him,  so  that  at  his  next  visit 
their  hearts  would  beat  loudly,  but  not  in  the 
same  way  they  had  done  last  time  he  drove  up  in 
his  coach  and  four.  Poor  Gregorics!  What 
a  pity !  The  horses  outside  may  paw  the  ground, 
and  toss  their  manes  as  much  as  they  like,  what 
difference  does  it  make?  Pal  Gregorics  spits 
blood !  Oh,  you  silly  little  Marys  and  Carolines. 
Of  course  Pal  Gregorics  is  an  ugly,  sickly  man, 
but  think  how  rich  he  is;  and  after  all,  he  only 
spits  his  own  blood.  So  what  can  it  matter 
to  you? 

Believe  me,  Rosalia,  who  is  ten  years  older 
than  you,  would  not  be  such  a  silly  little  goose,  if 
she  had  your  chances,  for  she  is  a  philosopher, 
and  if  she  were  to  be  told  that  Pal  Gregorics  spits 
blood  she  would  only  think  to  herself,  "  What  an 
interesting  man !"  And  aloud  she  would  say,  "  I 
will  nurse  him."  And  deep  down  in  her  mind 

54 


The  Tactless  Member 

where  she  keeps  the  ideas  that  cannot  be  put  into 
words,  which,  in  fact,  are  hardly  even  thoughts 
as  yet,  she  would  find  these  words,  "  If  Gregorics 
spits  blood  already,  he  won't  last  so  very  long." 

You  silly  little  girls,  you  know  nothing  of  life 
as  yet;  your  mothers  have  put  you  into  long 
dresses,  but  your  minds  have  not  grown  in  pro- 
portion. Don't  be  angry  with  me  for  speaking 
so  plainly,  but  it  is  my  duty  to  show  my  readers 
why  Pal  Gregorics  did  not  find  a  wife  among  you. 
The  reason  is  a  simple  one.  The  open  rose  is  not 
perfectly  pure;  bees  have  bathed  in  its  chalice, 
insects  have  slept  in  it.  But  in  the  heart  of  an 
opening  bud,  not  a  speck  of  dust  is  to  be  found. 

That  is  why  Pal  Gregorics  was  refused  by  so 
many  young  girls,  and  by  degrees  he  began  to 
see  that  they  were  right  ( for,  as  I  said  before,  he 
was  a  good,  simple  man),  marriage  was  not  for 
him,  as  he  spat  blood ;  for  after  all,  blood  is  one  of 
the  necessaries  of  life.  When  he  had  once  made 
up  his  mind  not  to  marry,  he  troubled  his  head  no 
more  about  the  girls,  but  turned  his  attention 
to  the  young  married  women.  He  had  beautiful 
bouquets  sent  from  Vienna  for  Mrs.  Vozary,  and 
one  fine  evening  he  let  five  hundred  nightingales 
loose  in  Mrs.  Muskulyi's  garden.  He  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  getting  so  many  together, 
but  a  bird-fancier  in  Transylvania  had  undertaken 
to  send  them  to  him.  The  beautiful  young  woman, 

55 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


as  she  turned  on  her  pillows,  was  surprised  to 
hear  how  delightfully  the  birds  were  singing  in 
her  garden  that  night. 

He  had  no  success  with  the  young  married 
women  either,  and  was  beginning  to  get  thor- 
oughly sick  of  life,  when  the  war  broke  out.  They 
would  not  take  him  for  a  soldier  either,  they  said 
he  was  too  small  and  thin,  he  would  not  be  able 
to  stand  the  fatigues  of  war.  But  he  wanted  to 
do  something  at  any  cost. 

The  recruiting  sergeant,  who  was  an  old  friend 
of  his,  gave  him  the  following  advice : 

"  I  don't  mind  taking  you  if  you  particularly 
wish  to  work  with  us,  but  you  must  look  out  for 
some  occupation  with  no  danger  attached  to  it. 
The  campaign  is  fatiguing;  we'll  give  you  some- 
thing in  the  writing  business.' 

Gregorics  was  wounded  in  his  pride. 

"  I  intend  accepting  only  the  most  dangerous 
employment,"  he  said;  "now  which  do  you  con- 
sider the  most  dangerous?" 

"  Why,  that  of  a  spy,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Then  I  will  be  a  spy." 

And  he  kept  his  word.  He  dressed  himself 
as  one  of  those  vagrants  of  whom  so  many  were 
seen  at  that  time,  and  went  from  one  camp  to  the 
other,  carrying  information  and  letters.  Old 
soldiers  remember  and  still  talk  of  the  little  old 
man  with  the  red  umbrella,  who  always  managed 

56 


The  Tactless  Member 

to  pass  through  the  enemy's  camp,  his  gaze  as 
vacant  as  though  he  were  unable  to  count  up  to 
ten.  With  his  thin,  bird-like  face,  his  ragged 
trousers,  his  battered  top-hat,  and  his  red  um- 
brella, he  was  seen  everywhere.  If  you  once  saw 
him  it  was  not  easy  to  forget  him,  and  there  was 
no  one  who  did  not  see  him,  though  few  guessed 
at  his  business.  Some  one  once  wrote  about  him : 
"  The  little  man  with  the  red  umbrella  is  the  devil 
himself,  but  he  belongs  to  the  better  side  of  the 
family." 

In  the  peaceful  time  that  succeeded  the  war,  he 
returned  to  Besztercebanya,  and  became  a  misan- 
thrope. He  never  moved  out  of  his  ugly,  old 
stone  house,  and  thought  no  more  of  making 
a  position  for  himself,  nor  of  marrying.  And  like 
most  old  bachelors  he  fell  in  love  with  his  cook. 
His  theory  now  was  to  simplify  matters.  He 
needed  a  woman  to  cook  for  him  and  to  wait  on 
him,  and  he  needed  a  woman  to  love ;  that  means 
two  women  in  the  house.  Why  should  he  not 
simplify  matters  and  make  those  two  women  one  ? 
Anna  Wibra  was  a  big  stout  woman,  somewhere 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Detvar.  She  was  a 
rather  good-looking  woman,  and  used  to  sing 
very  prettily  when  washing  up  the  plates  and 
dishes  in  the  evening.  She  had  such  a  nice  soft 
voice  that  her  master  once  called  her  into  his 
sitting-room,  and  made  her  sit  down  on  one  of 

57 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


the  leather-covered  chairs.  She  had  never  sat  so 
comfortably  in  her  life  before. 

"  I  like  your  voice,  Anna ;  sing  me  something 
here,  so  that  I  can  hear  you  better." 

So  Anna  started  a  very  melancholy  sort  of 
song,  "  The  Recruit's  Letter,"  in  which  he  com- 
plains to  the  girl  he  loves  of  all  the  hardships  of 
war. 

Gregorics  was  quite  softened  by  the  music,  and 
three  times  he  exclaimed :  "  What  a  wonderful 
voice!"  And  he  kept  moving  nearer  and  nearer 
to  Anna,  till  all  at  once  he  began  to  stroke  her 
cheek.  At  this  she  turned  scarlet,  and  jumped 
up  from  her  chair,  pushing  him  away  from  her. 

"  That's  not  in  my  contract,  sir !"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

Gregorics  blushed  too. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Anna,"  he  said. 

But  Anna  tossed  her  head  and  walked  to  the 
door. 

"  Don't  run  away,  you  stupid,  I  shan't  eat  you." 

But  Anna  would  not  listen,  and  took  refuge 
in  her  kitchen,  from  which  she  was  not  to  be 
coaxed  again  that  evening. 

The  next  day  she  gave  notice  to  leave,  but  her 
master  pacified  her  by  the  gift  of  a  golden  ring, 
and  a  promise  never  to  lay  a  finger  on  her  again. 
He  told  her  he  could  not  let  her  go,  for  he  would 
never  get  any  one  to  cook  as  well  as  she  did. 

58 


The  Tactless  Member 

Anna  was  pleased  with  the  praise  and  with  the 
ring,  and  stayed,  on  condition  that  he  kept  his 
promise.  He  did  keep  it  for  a  time,  and  then 
forgot  it,  and  Anna  was  again  on  the  point  of 
leaving.  But  Gregorics  pacified  her  this  time 
with  a.  necklace  of  corals  with  a  golden  clasp,  like 
the  Baronesses  Radvanszky  wore  at  church.  The 
necklace  suited  her  so  well,  that  she  no  longer 
thought  of  forbidding  her  master  to  touch  her. 
He  was  rich  enough,  let  him  buy  her  a  few  pretty 
things. 

In  fact,  the  same  afternoon  she  paid  a  visit  to 
the  old  woman  who  kept  a  grocer's  shop  next 
door,  and  asked  whether  it  would  hurt  very  much 
to  have  her  ears  pierced.  The  old  woman  laughed. 

"  Oh,  you  silly  creature,"  she  said,  "  you  surely 
don't  want  to  wear  earrings?  Anna,  Anna,  you 
have  bad  thoughts  in  your  head." 

Anna  protested  and  then  banged  the  door 
behind  her,  so  that  the  bell  fastened  to  it  went 
on  ringing  for  some  moments. 

Of  course  she  wanted  some  earrings,  why 
should  she  not  have  some?  God  had  given  her 
ears  the  same  as  to  all  those  grand  ladies  she  saw 
at  church.  And  before  the  day  was  over  she  had 
found  out  that  it  would  hardly  hurt  her  at  all  to 
have  her  ears  pierced. 

Yes,  she  wanted  to  have  some  earrings,  and 
now  she  did  all  she  could  to  bring  Gregorics  into 

59 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


temptation.  She  dressed  herself  neatly,  wore 
a  red  ribbon  in  her  hair,  in  fact,  made  herself 
thoroughly  irresistible.  Gregorics  may  have  been 
wily  enough  to  be  a  spy  for  a  whole  Russian  and 
Austrian  army,  but  a  woman,  however  simple, 
was  far  deeper  than  he. 

Next  Sunday  she  went  to  church  with  earrings 
in  her  ears,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  lads 
and  lasses  of  the  town,  who  had  long  ago  dubbed 
her  "  the  Grenadier."  And  in  a  few  weeks'  time 
the  whole  town  was  full  of  gossip  about  Gregorics 
and  his  cook,  and  all  sorts  of  tales  were  told,  some 
of  them  supremely  ridiculous.  His  step-brothers 
would  not  believe  it. 

"  A  Gregorics  and  a  servant !  Such  a  thing 
was  never  heard  of  before!" 

The  neighbors  tried  to  pacify  them  by  saying 
there  was  nothing  strange  in  the  fact,  on  the 
contrary  it  was  quite  natural.  Pal  Gregorics  had 
never  done  things  correctly  all  his  life.  How 
much  was  true  and  how  much  false  is  not  known, 
but  the  gossip  died  away  by  degrees,  only  to 
awaken  again  some  years  later,  when  a  small  boy 
was  seen  playing  about  with  a  pet  lamb  in  Pal 
Gregorics's  courtyard.  Who  was  the  child? 
Where  did  he  come  from?  Gregorics  himself 
was  often  seen  playing  with  him.  And  people, 
who  sometimes  out  of  curiosity  looked  through 
the  keyhole  of  the  great  wooden  gates,  saw 

60 


The  Tactless  Member 

Gregorics,  with  red  ribbons  tied  round  his  waist 
for  reins,  playing  at  horses  with  the  child,  who 
with  a  whip  in  his  hand  kept  shouting,  "  Gee-up, 
Raro."  And  the  silly  old  fellow  would  kick  and 
stamp  and  plunge,  and  even  race  round  the  court- 
yard. And  now  he  was  rarely  seen  limping 
through  the  town  in  his  shabby  clothes,  to  which 
he  had  become  accustomed  when  he  was  a  spy, 
and  under  his  arm  his  red  umbrella;  he  always 
had  it  with  him,  in  fine  or  wet  weather,  and  never 
left  it  in  the  hall  when  he  paid  a  visit,  but  took 
it  into  the  room  with  him,  and  kept  it  constantly 
in  his  hand.  Sometimes  the  lady  of  the  house 
asked  if  he  would  not  put  it  down. 

"  No,  no,"  he  would  answer,  "  I  am  so  used 
to  having  it  in  my  hand  that  I  feel  quite  lost 
without  it.  It  is  as  though  one  of  my  ribs  were 
missing,  upon  my  word  it  is !" 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  this  um- 
brella. Why  was  he  so  attached  to  it?  It  was 
incomprehensible.  Supposing  it  contained  some- 
thing important?  Somebody  once  said  (I  think 
it  was  Istvan  Pazar  who  had  served  in  the  war) , 
that  the  umbrella  contained  all  sorts  of  notes, 
telegrams,  and  papers  written  in  his  spying  days, 
and  that  they  were  in  the  handle  of  the  umbrella, 
which  was  hollow.  Well,  perhaps  it  was  true. 

The  other  members  of  the  Gregorics  family 
looked  with  little  favor  on  the  small  boy  in  the 

61 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Gregorics's  household,  and  never  rested  till  they 
had  looked  through  all  the  baptismal  registers 
they  could  lay  hands  on.  At  last  they  came  upon 
the  entry  they  wanted,  "  Gyorgy  Wibra,  illegiti- 
mate; mother,  Anna  Wibra." 

He  was  a  pretty  little  fellow,  so  full  of  life  and 
spirits  that  every  one  took  a  fancy  to  him. 


CHAPTER  II. 

DUBIOUS  SIGNS. 

LITTLE  Gyuri  Wibra  grew  to  be  a  fine  lad, 
strong  and  broad  chested.  Pal  Gregorics  was 
always  saying,  "  Where  on  earth  does  he  take  that 
chest  from?" 

He  was  so  narrow-chested  himself  that  he 
always  gazed  with  admiration  at  the  boy's  sturdy 
frame,  and  was  so  taken  up  in  the  contemplation 
of  it,  that  he  hardly  interested  himself  in  the 
child's  studies.  And  he  was  a  clever  boy  too.  An 
old  pensioned  professor,  Marton  Kupeczky,  gave 
him  lessons  every  day,  and  was  full  of  his  praises. 

"  There's  plenty  in  him,  sir,"  he  used  to  say. 
"  He'll  be  a  great  man,  sir.  What  will  you  bet, 
sir?" 

Gregorics  was  always  delighted,  for  he  loved 
the  boy,  though  he  never  showed  it.  On  these 
occasions  he  would  smile  and  answer : 

"  I'll  bet  you  a  cigar,  and  we'll  consider  I've 
lost  it." 

And  then  he  would  offer  the  old  professor,  who 

63 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


was  very  fond  of  betting,  one  of  his  choicest 
cigars. 

"  I  never  had  such  a  clever  pupil  before,"  the 
old  professor  used  to  say.  "  I  have  had  to  teach 
very  ordinary  minds  all  my  life,  and  have  wasted 
my  talents  on  them.  A  sad  thing  to  say,  sir.  I 
feel  like  that  nugget  of  gold  which  was  lost  at  the 
Mint.  You  know  the  tale,  sir  ?  What,  you  have 
never  heard  it?  Why,  a  large  nugget  of  gold 
was  once  lost  at  the  Mint.  It  was  searched  for 
everywhere,  but  could  not  be  found.  Well,  after 
a  long  examination  of  all  the  clerks,  it  turned 
out  that  the  gold  had  been  melted  by  accident  with 
the  copper  for  the  kreutzers.  You  understand 
me,  sir?  I  have  been  pouring  my  soul  into  two 
or  three  generations  of  fools,  but,  thank  goodness, 
I  have  at  last  found  a  worthy  recipient  for  my 
knowledge.  Of  course,  you  understand  me,  sir  ?" 

But  Pal  Gregorics  needed  no  spurring  on  in 
this  case;  he  had  fixed  intentions  as  far  as  the 
boy  was  concerned,  and  folks  were  not  far  wrong 
when  they  (mostly  in  order  to  vex  the  other 
Gregorics)  prophesied  the  end  would  be  that 
Gregorics  would  marry  Anna  Wibra,  and  adopt 
her  boy.  Kupeczky  himself  often  said : 

"  Yes,  that  will  be  the  end  of  it.  Who  will  bet 
with  me?" 

It  would  have  been  the  end,  and  the  correct 
way  too,  for  Gregorics  was  fond  enough  of  the 

64 


Dubious  Signs 


boy  to  do  a  correct  thing  for  once  in  a  way.  But 
two  things  happened  to  prevent  the  carrying  out 
of  this  plan.  First  of  all  Anna  fell  from  a  ladder 
and  broke  her  leg,  so  that  she  limped  all  her  life 
after,  and  who  wants  a  lame  wife? 

The  second  thing  was,  that  little  Gyuri  was 
taken  ill  very  suddenly.  He  turned  blue  in  the 
face  and  was  in  convulsions;  they  thought  he 
would  die.  Gregorics  fell  on  his  knees  by  the 
side  of  the  bed  of  the  sick  child,  kissed  his  face 
and  cold  little  hands,  and  asked  despairingly: 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  boy  ?  Tell  me  what 
hurts  you." 

"  I  don't  know,  uncle,"  moaned  the  child. 

At  that  moment  Gregorics  suffered  every  pain 
the  child  felt,  and  his  heart  seemed  breaking.  He 
seized  hold  of  the  doctor's  hand,  and  his  agony 
pressed  these  words  from  him : 

"  Doctor,  save  the  child,  and  I'll  give  you  a  bag 
full  of  gold." 

The  doctor  saved  him,  and  got  the  bag  of 
money  too,  as  Gregorics  had  promised  in  that 
hour  of  danger.  (Of  course  the  doctor  did  not 
choose  the  bag,  Gregorics  had  one  made  on  pur- 
pose.) 

The  doctor  cured  the  boy,  but  made  Gregorics 
ill,  for  he  instilled  suspicion  into  his  mind  by 
swearing  that  the  boy's  illness  was  the  result 
of  poison.  Nothing  could  have  upset  Gregorics 

65 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


as  much  as  this  declaration.  How  could  it  have 
happened?  Had  he  eaten  any  poisonous  mush- 
rooms ?  Gyuri  shook  his  head.  Well,  what  could 
he  have  eaten  ? 

The  mother  racked  her  brains  to  find  out  what 
could  have  been  the  cause.  Perhaps  this,  perhaps 
that,  perhaps  the  vinegar  was  bad,  or  the  copper 
saucepans  had  not  been  quite  clean?  Gregorics 
shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Anna,"  he  said. 

Deep  down  in  his  heart  was  a  thought  which 
he  was  afraid  to  put  into  words,  but  which  en- 
tirely spoiled  his  life  for  him,  and  robbed  him  of 
sleep  and  appetite.  He  had  thought  of  his  step- 
brothers; they  had  something  to  do  with  it,  he 
was  sure.  There  was  an  end  to  all  his  plans  for 
adopting  the  boy,  giving  him  his  own  name,  and 
leaving  him  his  fortune.  No,  no,  it  would  cost 
Gyuri  his  life;  they  would  kill  him  if  he  gave 
them  the  chance.  But  he  did  not  intend  to  give 
them  the  chance.  He  trembled  for  the  child,  and 
hardly  dared  to  love  him.  He  started  a  new  line 
of  conduct,  a  very  mad  one  too.  He  ordered  the 
boy  to  address  him  as  "  sir"  for  the  future,  and 
forbade  him  to  love  him. 

"  It  was  only  a  bit  of  fun,  you  know,  my 
allowing  you  to  call  me  '  uncle/  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Tears  stood  in  the  boy's  eyes,  and  seeing  them 

66 


Dubious  Signs 


old  Gregorics  bent  down  and  kissed  them  away; 
and  his  voice  was  very  sad  as  he  said : 

"  Don't  tell  any  one  I  kissed  you,  or  you  will 
be  in  great  danger." 

Precaution  now  became  his  mania.  He  took 
Kupeczky  into  his  house,  and  the  old  professor 
had  to  be  with  the  boy  day  and  night,  and  taste 
every  bit  of  food  he  was  to  eat.  If  Gyuri  went 
outside  the  gates,  he  was  first  stripped  of  his 
velvet  suit  and  patent  leather  shoes,  and  dressed 
in  a  ragged  old  suit  kept  on  purpose,  and  allowed 
to  run  barefoot.  Let  people  ask  in  the  streets, 
"Who  is  that  little  scarecrow?"  And  let  those 
who  knew  answer,  "  Oh,  that  is  Gregorics's 
cook's  child." 

And,  in  order  thoroughly  to  deceive  his  rela- 
tions, he  undertook  to  educate  one  of  his  step- 
sister's boys ;  took  him  up  to  Vienna  and  put  him 
in  the  Terezianum,  and  kept  him  there  in  grand 
style  with  the  sons  of  counts  and  barons.  To  his 
other  nephews  and  nieces  he  sent  lots  of  presents, 
so  that  the  Gregorics  family,  who  had  never  liked 
the  younger  brother,  came  at  last  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  not  such  a  bad  fellow  after  all,  only 
something  of  a  fool. 

Little  Gyuri  himself  was  sent  away  to  school 
after  a  time ;  to  Kolozsvar  and  then  to  Szeged,  as 
far  away  as  possible,  so  as  to  be  out  of  reach  of 
the  family.  At  these  times  Kupeczky  secretly 

67 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


disappeared  from  the  town  too,  though  he  might 
as  well  have  been  accompanied  by  a  drum  and 
fife  band,  for  not  a  soul  would  have  asked  where 
he  was  going. 

«fKT> 

Doubtless  there  was  a  lot  of  exaggeration  in 
ail  this  secrecy  and  precaution,  but  exaggeration 
had  a  large  share  in  Gregorics's  character.  If  he 
undertook  something  very  difficult  he  was  more 
adventurous  than  the  devil  himself,  and  once  his 
fear  was  overcome,  he  saw  hope  in  every  corner. 
His  love  for  the  child  and  his  fear  were  both 
exaggerated,  but  he  could  not  help  it. 

While  the  boy  was  pursuing  his  studies  with 
success,  the  little  man  with  the  red  umbrella  was 
placing  his  money  in  landed  estate.  He  said  he 
had  bought  a  large  estate  in  Bohemia,  and  in 
order  to  pay  for  it  had  been  obliged  to  sell  his 
house  in  Vienna.  Not  long  after  he  had  built 
a  sugar  factory  on  the  estate,  upon  which  he 
began  to  look  out  for  a  purchaser  for  his  Privorec 
estates.  He  soon  found  one  in  the  person  of 
a  rich  merchant  from  Kassa.  There  was  some- 
thing strange  and  mysterious  in  the  fact  of  the 
little  man  making  so  many  changes  in  his  old  age. 
One  day  he  had  his  house  in  Besztercebanya 
transferred  to  Anna  Wibra's  name.  And  the  little 
man  was  livelier  and  more  contented  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life  before.  He  began  to  pay 
visits  again,  interested  himself  in  things  and 

68 


Dubious  Signs 


events,  chattered  and  made  himself  agreeable  to 
every  one,  dined  with  all  his  relations  in  turn, 
throwing  out  allusions  and  hints,  such  as,  "  After 
all,  I  can't  take  my  money  with  me  into  the  next 
world,"  and  so  on.  He  visited  all  the  ladies  who 
had  refused  him  years  ago,  and  very  often  went 
off  by  train,  with  his  red  umbrella  under  his  arm, 
and  stayed  away  for  months  and  weeks  at  a  time. 
No  one  troubled  about  him,  every  one  said : 

"  I  suppose  the  old  fellow  has  gone  to  look 
after  his  property." 

He  never  spoke  much  about  his  Bohemian 
estates,  though  his  step-brothers  were  much  inter- 
ested in  them.  They  both  offered  in  turns  to 
go  there  with  him,  for  they  had  never  been  in 
Bohemia;  but  Gregorics  always  had  an  answer 
ready,  and  to  tell  the  truth  he  did  not  seem  to 
trouble  himself  much  about  the  whole  affair. 
Which  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for  he  had  no 
more  possessions  in  Bohemia  than  the  dirt  and 
dust  he  brought  home  in  his  clothes  from  Carls- 
bad, where  he  spent  a  summer  doing  the  cure. 

The  whole  story  was  only  trumped  up  to  put 
his  relations  off  the  scent,  whereas  the  truth  was 
that  he  had  turned  all  he  had  into  money,  and 
deposited  it  in  a  bank  in  order  to  be  able  to  give 
it  to  the  boy.  Gyuri's  inheritance  would  be  a  draft 
on  a  bank,  a  bit  of  paper  which  no  one  would  see, 
which  he  could  keep  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and 

69 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


yet  be  a  very  rich  man.  It  was  well  and  carefully 
thought  out.  So  he  did  not  really  go  to  his 
estates,  but  simply  to  the  town  where  Gyuri  was 
studying  with  his  old  professor. 

Those  were  his  happiest  times,  the  only  rays 
of  light  in  his  lonely  life ;  weeks  in  which  he  could 
pet  the  boy  to  his  heart's  content.  Gyuri  was 
a  favorite  at  school,  always  the  first  in  his  class, 
and  a  model  of  good  behavior. 

The  old  man  used  to  stay  for  weeks  in  Szeged 
and  enjoy  the  boy's  society.  They  were  often 
seen  walking  arm  in  arm  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tisza,  and  when  they  andKupeczky  talked  Slovak 
together,  every  one  turned  at  the  sound  of  the 
strange  language,  wondering  which  of  the  many 
it  was  that  had  been  invented  at  the  Tower  of 
Babel. 

When  the  last  lesson  was  over,  Gregorics  was 
waiting  at  the  gate,  and  the  delighted  boy  would 
run  and  join  him — though  his  comrades,  who, 
one  would  have  thought,  would  have  had  enough 
to  occupy  their  thoughts  elsewhere,  teased  him 
about  the  old  man.  They  swore  he  was  the  devil 
in  propria  persona,  that  he  did  Gyuri  Wibra's 
exercises  for  him,  and  that  he  had  a  talisman 
which  caused  him  to  know  his  lessons  well.  It 
was  easy  to  be  the  first  in  his  class  at  that  rate. 
There  were  even  some  silly  enough  to  declare 
the  old  gentleman  had  a  cloven  foot,  if  you  could 

70 


Dubious  Signs 


only  manage  to  see  him  with  his  boots  off.  The 
old  red  umbrella,  too,  which  he  always  had  with 
him,  they  thought  must  be  a  talisman,  something 
after  the  style  of  Aladdin's  lamp.  Pista  Parac- 
sanyi,  the  best  classical  verse  writer,  made  up 
some  lines  on  the  red  umbrella ;  which  were  soon 
learnt  by  most  of  the  boys,  and  spouted  on  every 
possible  occasion,  in  order  to  annoy  the  "  head 
boy."  But  the  poet  had  his  reward  in  the  form 
of  a  black  eye  and  a  bleeding  nose,  bestowed  upon 
him  by  Gyuri  Wibra,  who,  however,  began  to  be 
vexed  himself  at  the  sight  of  the  red  umbrella, 
which  made  his  old  friend  seem  ridiculous  in  the 
eyes  of  his  schoolfellows,  and  one  day  he  broached 
the  subject  to  the  old  gentleman. 

"  You  might  really  buy  a  new  umbrella,  uncle." 

The  old  gentleman  smiled. 

"What,  you  don't  like  my  umbrella?'* 

"  You  only  get  laughed  at,  and  the  boys  have 
even  made  verses  about  it." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  tell  your  schoolfellows  that 
*  all  that  glitters  is  not  gold/  as  they  may  have 
heard;  but  tell  them,  too,  that  very  often  things 
that  do  not  glitter  may  be  gold.  You  will  under- 
stand that  later  on  when  you  are  grown  up." 

He  thought  for  a  bit,  idly  making  holes  in  the 
sand  with  the  umbrella,  and  then  added: 

"  When  the  umbrella  is  yours." 

Gyuri  made  a  wry  face. 

71 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  Thank  you,  uncle,  but  I  hope  you  don't  mean 
to  give  it  me  on  my  birthday  instead  of  the  pony 
you  promised  me?" 

And  he  laughed  heartily,  upon  which  the  old 
gentleman  began  to  laugh  too,  contentedly  strok- 
ing his  mustache,  consisting  of  half  a  dozen  hairs. 
There  was  something  strange  in  his  laugh,  as 
though  he  had  laughed  inward  to  his  own  soul. 

"  No,  no,  you  shall  have  your  pony.  But  I 
assure  you  that  the  umbrella  will  once  belong  to 
you,  and  you  will  find  it  very  useful  to  protect 
you  from  the  wind  and  clouds." 

Gyuri  thought  this  great  nonsense.  Such  old 
gentlemen  always  attached  themselves  so  to  their 
belongings,  and  thought  such  a  lot  of  them.  Why, 
one  of  his  professors  had  a  penholder  he  had  used 
for  forty  years ! 

One  episode  in  connection  with  the  umbrella 
remained  fixed  in  Gyuri's  memory  ever  after. 
One  day  they  rowed  out  to  the  "  Yellow,"  as 
they  call  a  small  island  situated  just  where  the 
Maros  and  the  Tisza  met,  and  where  the  fisher- 
men of  Szeged  cook  their  far-famed  "  fish  with 
paprika"  (a  kind  of  cayenne  grown  in  Hungary, 
and  much  used  in  the  national  dishes).  We  read 
in  Marten's  famous  cookery  book  that  "  fish  with 
paprika"  must  only  be  boiled  in  Tisza  water,  and 
the  same  book  says  that  a  woman  cannot  prepare 
the  dish  properly. 

72 


Dubious  Signs 


Well,  as  I  said  before,  the  three  of  them  rowed 
out  to  the  "  Yellow."  As  they  were  landing  they 
struck  against  a  sand  heap,  and  Gregorics,  who 
was  in  the  act  of  rising  from  his  seat,  stumbled 
and  lost  his  balance,  and  in  trying  to  save  himself 
from  falling  dropped  his  umbrella  into  the  water, 
and  the  current  carried  it  away  with  it. 

"  My  umbrella,  save  it !"  shouted  Gregorics, 
who  had  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  in  whose 
eyes  they  read  despair.  The  two  boatmen  smiled, 
and  the  elder  one,  slowly  removing  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  remarked  laconically: 

"  No  great  loss  that,  sir ;  it  was  only  fit  to  put 
in  the  hands  of  a  scarecrow." 

"  One  hundred  florins  to  the  one  who  brings 
it  me  back,"  groaned  the  old  gentleman. 

The  boatmen,  astonished,  gazed  at  one  another, 
then  the  younger  man  began  to  pull  off  his  boots. 

"  Are  you  joking,  sir,  or  do  you  mean  it?" 

"  Here  are  the  hundred  florins,"  said  Gregorics, 
taking  a  bank-note  from  his  pocket-book. 

The  young  man,  a  fine  specimen  of  a  Szeged 
fisherman,  turned  to  Kupeczky. 

"  Is  the  old  chap  mad?"  he  asked  in  his  lacka- 
daisical way,  while  the  umbrella  quietly  floated 
down  the  stream. 

"  Oh  dear  no,"  answered  Kupeczky,  who,  how- 
ever, was  himself  surprised  at  Gregorics's  strange 
behavior. 

73 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  It's  not  worth  it,  domine  spectabilis,"  he 
added,  turning  to  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Quick,  quick !"  gasped  Gregorics. 

Another  doubt  had  arisen  in  the  boatman's 
mind. 

"  Is  the  bank-note  a  real  one,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"  Of  course  it  is.     Make  haste !" 

The  man,  who  had  by  this  time  taken  off  both 
his  boots  and  his  jacket,  now  sprang  into  the 
water  like  a  frog,  and  began  to  swim  after 
the  umbrella,  the  old  boatman  shouting  after 
him: 

"  You're  a  fool,  Janko ;  come  back,  don't  exert 
yourself  for  nothing." 

Gregorics,  afraid  the  warning  would  take 
effect,  flew  at  the  old  man  and  seized  hold  of 
his  tie. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  or  I'll  murder  you.  Do 
you  want  to  ruin  me?" 

"Well,  what  would  that  matter?  Do  you 
want  to  throttle  me?  Leave  go  of  my  neck- 
tie." 

"  Well,  let  the  boy  go  after  my  umbrella." 

"  After  all,  what  is  the  hen  good  for  if  not 
to  look  after  the  chickens?"  muttered  the  old 
boatman.  "  The  current  just  here  is  very  strong, 
and  he  won't  be  able  to  reach  the  umbrella.  And 
what's  the  good  of  it,  when  it  will  come  back  of 
itself  when  the  tide  turns  in  half  an  hour's  time, 

74 


Dubious  Signs 


to  the  other  side  of  the  '  Yellow.'  In  half  an 
hour  the  fishermen  will  spread  their  nets,  and  the 
gentleman's  umbrella  will  be  sure  to  be  caught 
in  them;  even  if  a  big  fish  swallows  it  we  can 
cut  it  open." 

And  as  the  old  fisherman  had  said,  so  it  came 
to  pass;  the  umbrella  was  caught  in  one  of  the 
fishing  nets,  and  great  was  the  joy  of  old  Gregor- 
ics  when  he  once  more  held  his  treasure  in  his 
hand.  He  willingly  paid  the  young  fisherman 
the  promised  one  hundred  florins,  though  it  was 
not  really  he  who  had  brought  the  umbrella  back ; 
and  in  addition  he  rewarded  the  fishermen  hand- 
somely, who,  the  next  day,  spread  the  tale  through 
the  whole  town  of  the  old  madman,  who  had 
given  one  hundred  florins  for  the  recovery  of  an 
old  torn  red  umbrella.  They  had  never  before 
caught  such  a  big  fish  in  the  Tisza. 

"  Perhaps  the  handle  of  the  umbrella  was  of 
gold?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  it  was  only  of  wood." 

"Perhaps  the  linen  was  particularly  fine?" 

"  Rubbish !  Is  there  any  linen  in  the  world 
worth  one  hundred  florins?  It  was  plain  red 
linen,  and  even  that  was  torn  and  ragged." 

"  Then  you  have  not  told  us  the  tale  prop- 
erly." 

"  I've  told  you  the  whole  truth." 

Kupeczky  remarked  to  Gyuri: 

75 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  I  would  not  mind  betting  the  old  gentleman 
has  a  tile  loose." 

"  A  strange  man,  but  a  good  one,"  answered 
Gyuri.  "  Who  knows  what  memories  are  at- 
tached to  that  umbrella !" 


CHAPTER  III. 

PAL    GREGORICS'S    DEATH    AND    WILL. 

No  signification  was  attached  to  the  above- 
mentioned  incident  till  years  after,  when  every 
one  had  forgotten  all  about  it,  Gyuri  included. 
As  for  Kupeczky,  he  could  not  remember  it,  for 
as  soon  as  the  news  came  from  Besztercebanya 
that  old  Gregorics  was  dead,  he  took  to  his  bed 
and  never  rose  from  it  again. 

"  I  am  dying,  Gyuri,"  he  said  to  his  sobbing 
pupil,  "  I  feel  it.  It  was  only  Gregorics  kept  me 
alive,  or  rather  I  kept  myself  alive  for  his  sake. 
But  now  I'm  done  for.  I  don't  know  if  he  has 
provided  for  your  future,  my  poor  boy,  but  it's 
all  over  with  me,  I'm  dying,  I  wouldn't  mind 
betting  it." 

And  he  would  have  won  his  bet  too.  Gyuri 
went  home  for  Gregorics's  funeral,  and  a  week 
later  the  landlady  sent  word  that  the  old  professor 
was  dead,  and  he  was  to  send  money  for  the 
funeral. 

But  what  was  Kupeczky's  death  to  that  of 

77 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Gregorics?  The  poor  old  fellow  was  quite  right 
to  take  his  departure,  for  no  one  wanted  him,  no 
one  took  any  notice  of  him.  He  slipped  quietly 
into  the  next  world,  just  as  one  ought  to  do ;  even 
during  his  life  he  caused  no  disturbance;  he  was 
here,  he  went,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it.  But 
Pal  Gregorics  went  to  work  in  quite  a  different 
style.  He  was  taken  ill  with  cramp  on  the  Thurs- 
day in  Holy  Week,  and  went  to  bed  in  great  pain. 
After  a  time  the  cramp  ceased,  but  left  him  very 
weak,  and  he  fell  asleep  toward  evening.  Some 
hours  after  he  opened  his  eyes  and  said: 

"  Anna,  bring  me  my  umbrella,  and  put  it  here, 
near  my  bed.  That's  it !  Now  I  feel  better !" 

He  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep  again,  but 
soon  woke  up  with  a  start. 

"  Anna,"  he  said,  "  I  have  had  a  fearful  dream. 
I  thought  I  was  a  horse,  and  was  being  taken  to 
a  fair  to  be  sold.  My  step-brothers  and  nephews 
appeared  on  the  scene,  and  began  to  bid  for  me, 
and  I  stood  trembling  there,  wondering  which  of 
them  I  was  to  belong  to.  My  brother  Boldizsar 
pulled  open  my  mouth,  examined  my  teeth,  and 
then  said,  '  He  is  not  worth  anything,  we  could 
only  get  five  florins  for  his  skin.'  As  he  was 
speaking,  up  came  a  man  with  a  scythe.  He  poked 
me  in  the  ribs  (it  hurts  me  still),  and  exclaimed, 
'  The  horse  is  mine,  I'll  buy  it.'  I  turned  and 
looked  at  him,  and  was  horrified  to  see  it  was 

78 


Pal  Gregorics's  Death  and  Will 

Death  himself.  '  But  I  will  not  give  the  halter 
with  the  horse/  said  my  owner.  '  It  does  not 
matter,'  answered  the  man  with  the  scythe,  '  I 
can  get  one  from  the  shop  round  the  corner ;  wait 
a  minute,  I'll  be  back  directly.'  And  then  I  awoke. 
Oh,  it  was  dreadful !" 

His  red  hair  stood  on  end,  and  beads  of  per- 
spiration rolled  down  his  face,  which  Anna  wiped 
with  a  handkerchief. 

"  Nonsense,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  believe 
in  dreams;  they  do  not  come  from  Heaven,  but 
from  indigestion." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  sick  man,  "  I'm  going,  I 
feel  it.  My  time  will  be  up  when  they  bring  the 
halter.  Don't  waste  words  trying  to  console  me, 
but  bring  me  pen  and  paper,  I  want  to  send 
a  telegram  to  the  boy;  he  must  come  home  at 
once.  I'll  wait  for  his  arrival,  yes,  I'll  wait  till 
then." 

They  brought  a  table  to  his  bed,  and  he  wrote 
the  following  words : 

"  Come  at  once,  uncle  is  dying  and  wants  to 
give  you  something. — Mother." 

"  Send  the  servant  with  this  at  once." 

He  was  very  restless  while  the  man  was  away, 
and  asked  three  times  if  he  had  returned.  At 
length  he  came  back,  but  with  bad  news;  the 
telegraph  office  was  closed  for  the  night. 

"  Well,  it  does  not  matter,"  said  Anna,  "  we 

79 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


will  send  it  in  the  morning.  The  master  is  not 
really  so  bad,  it  is  half  imagination;  but  he  is  so 
nervous  we  must  not  excite  him,  so  go  in  and  tell 
him  the  telegram  is  sent." 

He  was  quieter  after  that,  and  began  to  reckon 
at  what  time  the  boy  would  arrive,  and  decided 
he  might  be  there  by  the  afternoon  of  the  sec- 
ond day. 

He  slept  quietly  all  night,  and  got  up  the  next 
morning  very  pale  and  weak,  but  went  about 
putting  things  straight  and  turning  out  drawers. 

"  It  is  unnecessary  to  send  the  telegram," 
thought  Anna  to  herself.  "  He  seems  nearly 
himself  again,  and  will  be  all  right  in  a  day 
or  two." 

The  whole  day  he  pottered  about,  and  in  the 
afternoon  shut  himself  up  in  his  study  and  drank 
a  small  bottle  of  Tokay  wine,  and  wrote  a  great 
deal.  Anna  only  went  in  once  to  see  if  he  wanted 
anything.  No,  he  wanted  nothing. 

"  Have  you  any  pain?" 

"  My  side  hurts  me,  just  where  the  man  with 
the  scythe  touched  me.  There  is  something  wrong 
inside." 

"  Does  it  hurt  very  much  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  much !" 

"  Shall  I  send  for  a  doctor?" 

"  No." 

In  the  evening  he  sent  for  his  lawyer,  Janos 

80 


Pal  Gregorics's  Death  and  Will 

Sztolarik.  He  was  quite  lively  when  he  came, 
made  him  sit  down,  and  sent  for  another  bottle 
of  Tokay. 

"  The  February  vintage,  Anna,"  he  called  after 
her. 

The  wine  had  been  left  him  by  his  father,  and 
dated  from  the  year  when  there  had  been  two 
vintages  in  Tokay  in  twelve  months,  one  in 
February,  and  one  in  October.  Only  kings  can 
drink  the  like  of  it.  On  account  of  the  mildness 
of  the  winter  the  vines  had  been  left  uncovered, 
had  flowered  and  borne  fruit,  so  that  in  February 
they  were  able  to  have  a  vintage,  and  you  can 
imagine  what  a  flavor  those  grapes  had.  There 
was  never  anything  like  it  before  nor  after.  Old 
Gregorics's  father  used  to  call  it  the  "  Life-giver," 
and  often  said: 

"  If  a  man  intending  to  commit  suicide  were 
to  drink  a  thimbleful  of  it  beforehand,  he  would, 
if  unmarried,  go  and  look  up  a  '  best  man,'  or,  if 
married,  would  go  and  sue  for  a  divorce ;  but  kill 
himself  he  would  not." 

The  two  friends  drank  to  each  other's  health, 
and  Gregorics  smacked  his  lips. 

"  It's  devilish  good,"  he  said. 

Then  he  gave  the  lawyer  a  sealed  packet. 

"  In  that  you  will  find  my  will,"  he  said.  "  I 
sent  for  you  in  order  to  give  it  you." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  and  smiled. 

81 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  There  will  be  some  surprises  in  that." 

"  Why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry  with  it?  There 
is  plenty  of  time,"  said  Sztolarik,  taking  the 
packet. 

Gregorics  smiled. 

"  I  know  more  about  that  than  you,  Sztolarik. 
But  take  a  drop  more,  and  don't  let  us  talk  of 
death.  And  now  I'll  tell  you  how  my  father  got 
this  wine.  Well,  he  was  a  very  sly  customer,  and 
if  he  couldn't  get  a  thing  by  fair  means,  he  got 
it  by  foul,  and  I  have  inherited  some  of  his  slyness 
from  him.  But  mine  is  not  the  genuine  article; 
however,  that  does  not  matter.  In  Zemplin  there 
lived  a  very,  very  rich  man,  a  count,  and  an  ass 
into  the  bargain;  at  least  he  was  a  good-hearted 
man,  and  liked  to  give  pleasure  to  others,  thus 
proving  that  he  was  an  ass.  My  father  used  to 
buy  his  wine  of  him,  and  if  they  had  struck 
a  good  bargain  the  count  used  to  give  him  a  glass 
of  this  nectar.  Being  an  assiduous  wine  merchant, 
of  course  my  father  was  always  worrying  him 
to  sell  him  some  of  the  wine,  but  the  count  would 
not  hear  of  it,  and  said,  '  The  Emperor  Ferdinand 
has  not  enough  money  to  buy  it!'  Well,  once 
when  they  were  drinking  a  small  glass  of  the 
'  Life-giver,'  my  father  began  sighing  deeply:  '  If 
my  poor  wife  could  only  drink  a  thimbleful  of  this 
every  day  for  two  months,  I  am  sure  she  would 
get  quite  well  again.'  Upon  which  the  count's 

82 


Pal  Gregorics's  Death  and  Will 

heart  softened,  and  he  called  up  his  major-domo 
and  said :  '  Fill  Mr.  Gregorics's  cask  with  the 
"  Life-giver."  A  few  days  later  several  visitors 
arrived  at  the  castle,  and  the  count  ordered  some 
of  the  wine  to  be  brought.  '  There  is  none  left, 
sir,'  said  the  butler.  '  Why,  what  has  become  of 
it  ?'  asked  the  count.  '  Mr.  Gregorics  took  it  with 
him,  there  was  not  even  enough  to  fill  his  cask!' 
It  was  true,  for  my  father  had  ordered  an  enor- 
mous cask  of  Mr.  Pivak  (old  Pivak  is  still  alive 
and  remembers  the  whole  story),  took  the  cask 
in  a  cart  to  Zemplin,  and,  after  filling  it  with  the 
wine,  brought  it  home.  Not  bad,  was  it?  Drink 
another  glass  before  you  go,  Sztolarik." 

When  the  lawyer  had  gone,  Gregorics  called 
his  man-servant  in. 

"  Go  at  once  to  the  ironmonger's  and  buy  a 
large  caldron ;  then  find  me  two  masons  and  bring 
them  here;  but  don't  speak  to  a  soul  about  it." 

Now  that  was  Matyko's  weak  point,  but  if  he 
had  not  been  told  to  hold  his  tongue  he  might 
have  managed  to  do  so  later  on,  when  the  oppor- 
tunity for  speaking  came. 

"  Off  you  go,  and  mind  you  are  back  in  double 
quick  time!" 

Before  dark  the  masons  had  arrived,  and  the 
caldron  too.  Gregorics  took  the  two  men  into  his 
room,  and  carefully  shut  the  door. 

"  Can  you  keep  silence  ?"  he  asked. 

83 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


The  masons  looked  at  each  other  surprised,  and 
the  elder  one  answered. 

"  Why,  of  course  we  can  keep  silence,  that  is 
the  first  thing  a  man  does  on  his  arrival  in  this 
world." 

"  Yes,  until  he  has  learnt  to  talk,"  answered 
Gregorics. 

"  And  even  afterward  you  can  make  the  trial 
if  it  is  worth  your  while,"  said  the  younger  man 
slyly. 

"  It  will  be  worth  your  while,  for  you  shall 
have  fifty  florins  each  if  you  will  make  a  hole  in 
a  wall  large  enough  to  put  this  caldron  in,  and 
then  close  it  again  so  that  no  one  can  see  where 
it  was  put" 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  That  is  all.  But  besides  that  you  will  receive 
fifty  florins  each  from  the  owner  of  this  house 
every  year,  as  long  as  you  keep  silence." 

The  masons  again  exchanged  glances,  and  the 
elder  said: 

"  We  will  do  it.     Where  is  it  to  be  done  ?" 

"  I  will  show  you." 

Gregorics  took  down  a  rusty  key  from  a  nail, 
and  went  out  with  the  men  into  the  courtyard. 

"  Now  follow  me,"  he  said,  and  led  them 
through  the  garden  to  an  orchard,  in  which  was 
a  small  house  built  of  stone.  The  most  delicious 
apples  grew  here,  and  that  had  induced  old 

84 


Pal  Gregorics's  Death  and  Will 

Gregorics  to  buy  the  orchard  and  house  from  the 
widow  of  the  clergyman;  he  had  made  a  present 
of  both  to  little  Gyuri,  and  it  was  entered  in  his 
name.  When  the  boy  was  at  home  he  used  to 
study  there  with  Kupeczky,  but  since  he  left  it  had 
been  quite  deserted. 

Gregorics  led  the  masons  to  this  little  house, 
and  showed  them  the  wall  in  which  he  wished  an 
opening  made  large  enough  to  receive  the  caldron, 
and  told  them  when  they  were  ready  to  come  and 
tell  him,  as  he  wished  to  be  present  when  they 
walled  it  in.  By  midnight  the  hole  was  ready, 
and  the  masons  came  and  tapped  at  the  window. 
Gregorics  let  them  in,  and  they  saw  the  caldron 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The  top  was  covered 
with  sawdust,  so  that  they  could  not  see  what 
was  in  it,  but  it  was  so  heavy  the  two  masons 
could  hardly  carry  it.  Gregorics  followed  them 
step  for  step,  and  did  not  move  until  they  had 
built  up  the  wall  again. 

"  If  you  have  it  whitewashed  to-morrow,  sir, 
no  one  will  find  the  place." 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  the  work,"  said 
Gregorics.  "  Here  is  the  promised  reward,  and 
now  you  may  go." 

The  elder  of  the  two  masons  was  surprised  at 
being  let  off  so  easily. 

"  I've  heard  and  read  of  this  sort  of  thing,"  he 
said,  "  but  they  did  things  differently  then.  They 

85 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


used  to  put  the  masons'  eyes  out,  so  that  even 
they  could  not  find  the  place  again,  but  of  course 
they  got  a  hundred  times  as  much  as  we  do." 

"  Ah,  that  was  in  the  good  old  times,"  sighed 
the  other. 

Gregorics  troubled  his  head  no  more  about 
them,  but  closed  the  heavy  oaken  door  of  the 
house,  and  went  home  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  the  cramp  returned,  and 
was  only  partially  relieved  by  the  medicine  Anna 
gave  him.  He  was  frightfully  weak,  and  only 
now  and  then  showed  interest  in  what  was  going 
on  around  him. 

"  Give  us  a  good  dinner,  Anna,"  he  said  once, 
"  and  make  dumplings,  the  boy  likes  them." 

And  half  an  hour  afterward: 

"  Make  the  dumplings  with  jam,  Anna,  the  boy 
likes  them  best  so." 

The  only  thing  he  would  take  himself  was 
mineral  water.  Toward  afternoon  the  cramp  was 
much  worse,  and  he  began  to  spit  blood.  Anna 
was  frightened,  and  began  to  cry,  and  ask  if  he 
would  not  have  a  doctor  or  a  priest.  Gregorics 
shook  his  head. 

"  No,  no,  I  am  quite  ready  to  die,  everything 
is  in  order.  I  am  only  waiting  for  Gyuri.  What 
time  is  it?" 

The  church  clock  just  then  struck  twelve. 

"  It  is  time  the  coach  arrived.     Go  and  tell 

86 


Pal  Gregorics's  Death  and  Will 

Matyko  to  wait  outside  by  the  gate,  and  carry 
Gyuri's  bag  in  when  he  comes." 

Anna  wrung  her  hands  in  despair.  Should  she 
own  she  had  not  sent  off  the  telegram  ?  No,  she 
dare  not  tell  him ;  she  would  carry  on  the  decep- 
tion, and  send  Matyko  out  to  the  gate.  But  the 
sick  man  got  more  and  more  restless. 

"  Anna,"  he  said,  "  take  the  horn  out,  and  tell 
Matyko  to  blow  it  when  the  boy  arrives,  so  that 
I  may  know  at  once." 

So  Anna  took  down  the  horn,  and  had  less 
courage  than  ever  to  own  the  truth. 

The  sick  man  was  quieter  after  that,  and  lis- 
tened attentively,  raising  his  head  at  every  sound, 
and  feeling  for  his  umbrella  every  now  and  then. 

"  Open  the  window,  Anna,  or  I  shan't  hear 
Matyko  blow  the  horn." 

The  sunlight  streamed  in  through  the  open 
window,  and  the  perfume  of  acacia  blossoms  was 
borne  in  on  the  breeze. 

"  Put  your  hand  on  my  forehead,  Anna." 

She  did  as  she  was  told,  and  found  his  skin 
cold  and  dry.  The  sick  man  sighed. 

"  Your  hand  is  too  rough,  Anna.  The  boy's 
is  so  soft  and  warm." 

He  smiled  faintly,  then  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Did  you  not  hear  anything  ?  Listen !  Was 
that  the  horn  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  so.    I  heard  nothing." 

87 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Gregorics  pointed  to  a  clock  in  the  next 
room. 

"  Stop  it,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  hear  anything. 
Quick,  quick!" 

Anna  got  on  a  chair,  and  stopped  the  clock. 
In  that  moment  she  heard  a  sound  in  the  next 
room,  something  like  a  groan,  then  the  muttered 
words :  "  I  hear  the  horn !"  then  another  groan. 
j  Anna  jumped  off  the  chair,  and  ran  into  the 
next  room.  There  all  was  still ;  on  the  bed  were 
large  spots  of  blood,  and  Gregorics  lay  there  dead, 
his  face  white,  his  eyes  wide  open  and  staring  at 
the  ceiling.  One  hand  hung  down  by  his  side, 
the  other  firmly  held  the  umbrella. 

Thus  died  poor  Pal  Gregorics,  and  the  news  of 
his  death  soon  spread  among  his  relations  and  his 
neighbors.  The  doctor  said  he  had  died  of  some 
illness  with  a  long  Latin  name,  which  no  one  had 
ever  heard,  and  said  that  if  he  had  been  called 
sooner  he  might  have  saved  him. 

Boldizsar  was  soon  on  the  spot,  also  his  brother 
Caspar  with  all  his  family.  Mrs.  Panyoki,  the 
eldest  sister,  was  in  the  country  at  the  time,  and 
on  receipt  of  the  news  late  the  same  evening, 
exclaimed  despairingly : 

"  What  a  deception !  Here  have  I  been  praying 
all  my  life  for  him  to  die  in  the  winter,  and  he 
must  needs  go  and  die  in  the  summer.  Is  there 
any  use  in  praying  nowadays?  What  a  decep- 

88 


Pal  Gregorics's  Death  and  Will 

tion!  Those  two  thieves  will  take  everything 
they  can  lay  their  hands  on." 

She  ordered  the  horses  to  be  harnessed,  and 
drove  off  as  fast  as  she  could,  arriving  about 
midnight,  by  which  time  the  two  brothers  were 
in  possession  of  everything,  had  even  taken  up 
their  abode  in  the  house,  and  driven  Anna  out 
in  spite  of  her  protests  that  the  house  was  hers, 
and  she  was  mistress  there. 

"  Only  the  four  walls  are  yours,  and  those  you 
shall  have.  The  rest  is  ours,  and  a  good-for- 
nothing  creature  like  you  has  no  right  here.  So 
off  you  go !" 

Caspar  was  a  lawyer,  and  understood  things; 
how  was  poor  Anna  to  take  her  stand  against 
him.  She  could  only  cry,  put  on  her  hat,  pack  up 
her  box,  and  limp  over  the  road  to  Matyko's 
mother.  But  before  she  went  the  two  brothers 
turned  her  box  out,  to  see  she  took  nothing  with 
her.  to  which  she  had  no  right. 

The  funeral  took  place  on  the  third  day.  It 
was  not  a  grand  one  by  any  means;  no  one  shed 
a  tear  except  poor  Anna,  who  did  not  dare  go 
near  the  coffin  for  fear  of  being  sent  off  by  the 
relations.  The  boy  had  not  yet  arrived  from 
Szeged,  and  it  was  better  so,  for  he  would  prob- 
ably have  been  turned  out  of  the  courtyard  by  the 
two  brothers  of  the  dead  man.  But  even  though 
Anna  did  not  walk  with  the  mourners,  she  was 

89 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


the  centre  of  all  eyes,  for  did  not  that  big  house 
outside  the  town  belong  to  her  now?  And  when 
she  dropped  her  handkerchief  wet  with  her  tears, 
did  not  all  the  unmarried  men,  one  of  them  even 
a  lawyer,  rush  to  pick  it  up  for  her? 

This  incident  went  to  prove  how  much  she  had 
risen  in  people's  estimation.  After  the  funeral, 
there  was  a  general  gathering  of  all  the  family  at 
Sztolarik's  in  order  to  hear  the  will  read.  Well, 
it  was  a  rather  strange  one  on  the  whole. 

The  old  gentleman  had  left  2000  florins  to  the 
Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  and  2000  florins 
to  each  of  the  ladies  at  whose  houses  he  had 
visited  years  before,  and  to  those  who  had  refused 
to  marry  him.  Nine  ladies  were  mentioned  by 
name,  and  the  legacy  had  been  placed  in  the  hands 
of  Sztolarik  to  be  paid  at  once  to  the  legatees. 

The  relations  listened  with  bated  breath,  every 
now  and  then  throwing  in  a  remark,  such  as, 
"  Very  good.  Quite  right  of  him,"  etc.  Only 
Mrs.  Panyoki  muttered,  when  the  nine  ladies' 
names  were  read  out :  "  Dear  me,  how  very 
strange!" 

Boldizsar,  who  was  of  opinion  it  was  not  worth 
while  worrying  over  such  trifles  (after  all,  Pal 
had  been  slightly  mad  all  his  life),  said  grandly: 

"  Please  continue,  Mr.  Sztolarik." 

The  lawyer  answered  shortly :  "  There  is  no 
more !" 

90 


Pal  Gregorics's  Death  and  Will 

Their  surprise  was  great,  and  there  was  a  gen- 
eral rush  to  look  at  the  will. 

"  Impossible !"  they  all  exclaimed  at  once. 

The  lawyer  turned  his  back  on  them  repeating : 

"  I  tell  you  there  is  not  another  word !" 

"  And  the  rest  of  his  fortune,  his  estates  in 
Bohemia?" 

"  There  is  no  mention  of  them.  I  can  only  read 
what  I  see  written  here ;  you  must  at  least  under- 
stand that,  gentlemen." 

"  It  is  incomprehensible,"  groaned  Caspar. 

"  The  curious  part  of  it  is,"  remarked  Boldiz- 
sar,  "  that  there  is  no  mention  of  that  woman  and 
her  son." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  answered  Caspar,  "  it  does 
seem  strange." 

The  lawyer  hastened  to  reassure  them. 

"  It  can  make  no  difference  to  you,"  he  said. 
"  Whatever  fortune  there  may  be  that  is  not 
mentioned  in  the  will  falls  to  you  in  any  case." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Caspar,  "  and  that  is 
only  right.  But  the  money?  Where  is  it?  There 
must  be  any  amount  of  it.  I'm  afraid  some  wrong 
has  been  done." 

Mrs.  Panyoki  said  nothing,  only  looked  sus- 
piciously at  her  two  brothers. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    AVARICIOUS    GREGORICS. 

THE  contents  of  the  will  soon  became  known 
in  the  town,  and  caused  quite  a  little  storm  in 
the  various  patriarchal  drawing-rooms,  with 
their  old-fashioned  cherry-wood  pianos,  over 
which  hung  the  well-known  picture,  the  "  March 
of  Miklos  Zrinyi,"  and  their  white  embroidered 
table-cloths  on  small  tables,  in  the  centre  of  which 
stands  a  silver  candlestick,  or  a  glass  brought 
from  some  watering-place  with  the  name  engraved 
on  it,  and  a  bunch  of  lilac  in  it.  Yes,  in  those 
dear  little  drawing-rooms,  there  was  any  amount 
of  gossip  going  on.  It  was  really  disgraceful  of 
Gregorics,  but  he  was  always  tactless.  The  idea 
of  compromising  honest  old  ladies,  mothers  and 
grandmothers ! 

The  nine  ladies  were  the  talk  of  the  town,  their 
names  were  in  every  mouth,  and  though  there 
were  many  who  blamed  Gregorics,  there  were  also 
some  who  took  his  part. 

"  After  all,"  they  said,  "  who  knows  what  ties 

92 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

there  were  between  them?  Gregorics  must  have 
been  a  lively  fellow  in  his  youth." 

And  even  those  who  defended  Gregorics  de- 
cided that  after  all  there  must  have  been  some 
friendship  between  him  and  the  nine  ladies  at 
some  time  or  other,  or  why  should  he  have  re- 
membered them  in  his  will ;  but  his  behavior  was 
not  gentlemanly  in  any  case,  even  if  they  were  to 
believe  the  worst.  In  fact,  in  that  case  it  was 
even  more  tactless. 

"  For  such  behavior  he  ought  to  be  turned  out 
of  the  club,  I  mean  he  ought  to  have  been  turned 
out ;  in  fact,  I  mean,  if  he  were  alive  he  might  be 
turned  out.  I  assure  you,  if  they  write  on  his 
gravestone  that  he  was  an  honorable  man,  I'll 
strike  it  out  with  my  own  pencil." 

These  were  the  words  of  the  notary. 

The  captain  of  the  fire-brigade  looked  at  it  from 
a  different  point  of  view. 

"It  is  a  cowardly  trick,"  he  declared.  "Women 
only  reckon  until  they  are  thirty-five  years  of  age, 
and  these  are  all  old  women.  A  little  indiscre- 
tion of  this  kind  cannot  hurt  them.  If  you 
breathe  on  a  rusty  bit  of  steel  it  leaves  no  mark. 
We  only  remove  caterpillars  from  those  trees 
which  have  flowers  or  leaves,  or  which  will  bear 
fruit,  but  on  old,  dried-up  trees  we  leave  them 
alone.  But  it  is  the  husbands  Gregorics  has 
offended,  for  it  is  cowardly  to  affront  people  who 

93 


St.    Peter's   Umbrella 


cannot  demand  satisfaction  from  you.  And  I 
think  I  may  affirm  with  safety  that  Gregorics 
is  now  incapable  of  giving  satisfaction." 

The  next  morning  Istvan  Vozary  (whose  wife 
was  one  of  the  nine  ladies  mentioned  in  the  will) 
appeared  at  the  lawyer's  and  informed  him  that 
as  his  wife  had  never  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
dead  man,  she  had  no  intention  of  accepting  the 
2000  florins.  When  this  was  known  in  the  town, 
the  eight  remaining  ladies  arrived,  one  after  the 
other,  at  the  lawyer's,  in  order  to  make  known  to 
him  their  refusal  of  the  legacy,  as  they  also  had 
nothing  to  do  with  Gregorics. 

I  do  not  know  when  Sztolarik  had  had  such 
a  lively  time  of  it  as  on  that  day,  for  it  was  really 
amusing  to  see  those  wrinkled  old  dames,  tooth- 
less and  gray-haired,  coming  to  defend  their 
honor. 

But  it  was  even  livelier  for  the  Gregorics  fam- 
ily, for  they  thus  got  back  the  20,000  florins  they 
had  been  cheated  out  of — that  is,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  2000  florins  left  to  the  Academy  of 
Arts  and  Sciences,  for,  of  course,  the  Academy 
accepted  the  legacy,  though  it  also  had  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  Gregorics.  But  the  Academy  (the 
tenth  old  woman)  was  not  so  conscientious  as 
the  other  nine. 

The  joy  of  the  Gregorics  soon  turned  to  bitter- 
ness, for  they  could  not  manage  to  find  out  where 

94 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

the  Bohemian  estates  were.  Caspar  went  off  to 
Prague,  but  came  back  after  a  fruitless  search. 
They  were  unable  to  find  any  papers  referring  to 
the  estates;  not  a  bill,  not  a  receipt,  not  a  letter 
was  to  be  found. 

"  It  was  incomprehensible,  such  a  thing  had 
never  happened  before,"  Boldizsar  said. 

They  were  wild  with  anger,  and  threatened 
Matyko  and  Anna  to  have  them  locked  up,  if  they 
would  not  tell  them  where  the  estates  were  in 
Bohemia ;  and  at  length  they  were  brought  before 
the  Court  and  examined.  Matyko  at  least  must 
know  all  about  it,  for  he  had  travelled  every- 
where with  his  master. 

So  Matyko  had  to  own  that  his  master  had 
never  been  to  Bohemia  at  all,  but  had  always  gone 
to  Szeged  or  to  Kolozsvar,  where  Gyuri  had  been 
at  school. 

Oh !  that  sly  Pal  Gregorics,  how  he  had  cheated 
his  relations !  Now  it  was  as  clear  as  day  why  he 
had  turned  all  his  possessions  into  money,  of 
course  he  had  given  it  all  to  that  boy.  But  had 
he  given  it  him?  How  could  he  have  trusted 
hundreds  of  thousands  to  a  child  of  that  age? 
Then,  where  had  he  put  it  ?  to  whom  had  he  given 
it  ?  That  was  the  riddle  the  Gregorics  were  trying 
to  solve. 

The  lawyer,  the  last  person  who  had  spoken 
to  Gregorics,  declared  he  had  not  mentioned  any 

95 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


money,  and  Anna  swore  by  Heaven  and  earth 
that  she  and  her  son  had  not  received  a  kreutzer 
from  him,  and  were  much  embittered  at  the  fact 
of  his  leaving  them  without  any  provision.  She 
had  not  a  good  word  to  say  for  the  dead  man. 
He  had  made  the  boy  unhappy  for  life,  spending 
so  much  on  him  and  his  education,  and  then 
leaving  him  totally  without  providing  for  him; 
so  that  the  boy,  for  whom  expensive  professors 
had  been  kept,  would  now  be  reduced  to  giving 
lessons  himself,  in  order  to  enable  him  to  live, 
for  the  house  would  hardly  bring  in  enough  to 
pay  for  his  keep,  while  attending  the  lectures  at 
the  University. 

"  Well,"  said  Sztolarik,  "  if  he  had  intended 
the  boy  to  have  his  money,  he  could  have  given 
it  straight  into  his  hands,  no  one  could  prevent 
it." 

This  was  quite  true,  and  that  was  the  very 
reason  it  seemed  so  strange  he  had  not  done  so. 
The  house  in  Vienna  had  been  sold  for  180,000 
florins,  the  Privorec  estates  for  75,000,  which 
made  over  a  quarter  of  million  florins.  Good 
heavens!  Where  had  he  put  it  to?  If  he  had 
exchanged  the  paper  notes  for  gold,  melted  it,  and 
eaten  it  by  spoonfuls  ever  since,  he  could  not  have 
finished  it  yet. 

But  Gregorics  had  been  a  careful  man,  so  the 
money  must  be  in  existence  somewhere.  It  was 

96 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

enough  to  drive  one  mad.  It  did  not  seem  likely 
that  Anna  or  the  boy  should  have  the  money,  nor 
Sztolarik,  who  was  Gyuri  Wibra's  guardian;  so 
the  brothers  Gregorics  did  not  despair  of  finding 
it,  and  they  engaged  detectives  to  keep  their  eyes 
on  Anna,  and  looked  up  a  sharp  boy  in  Pest  to 
let  them  know  how  Gyuri  lived  there,  and  to  find 
out  from  his  conversation  whether  he  knew  any- 
thing of  the  missing  money.  For  Gyuri  had  gone 
to  Pest,  to  attend  the  University  lectures,  and 
study  law.  The  boy  sent  word  that  Gyuri  lived 
very  simply,  attended  every  lecture,  lived  at  the 
"  Seven  Owls,"  and  dined  at  a  cheap  eating-house 
known  by  the  name  of  the  "  First  of  April."  This 
little  restaurant  was  mostly  frequented  by  law 
students.  On  the  daily  bill  of  fare  was  the 
picture  of  a  fat  man  speaking  to  a  very  thin  man, 
and  underneath  was  the  following  conversation: 

Thin  man :  "  How  well  you  look ;  where  do  you 
dine?" 

Fat  man :  "  Why  here,  at  the  '  First  of  April.'  " 

Thin  man :  "  Really?  Well,  I  shall  dine  there 
too  for  the  future." 

All  the  same,  the  fare  was  not  of  the  best,  and 
perhaps  the  above  conversation  was  intended  to 
make  April  Fools  of  people.  For  the  restaurant- 
keepers  of  olden  times  were  frank,  and  even  if 
they  lied,  they  did  it  so  naively,  that  every  one 
saw  through  the  lie. 

97 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Caspar  Gregorics  received  the  following  par- 
ticulars as  to  Gyuri's  mode  of  life : 

"  He  breakfasts  at  a  cheap  coffee-house,  attends 
lectures  all  the  morning,  dines  at  the  '  First  of 
April/  the  afternoon  he  passes  at  a  lawyer's 
office,  copying  deeds,  etc.,  and  in  the  evening  he 
buys  a  little  bacon  or  fried  fish  for  supper,  then 
goes  home  and  studies  till  midnight.  Every  one 
likes  him,  and  he  will  make  his  way  in  the 
world." 

That  avaricious  Caspar  Gregorics  began  to 
wish  the  boy  had  the  quarter  of  a  million  after 
all,  for  he  might  in  a  few  years'  time  marry  his 
daughter  Minka,  who  was  just  eleven. 

Anna  had  let  the  house,  and  Sztolarik  sent 
Gyuri  thirty  florins  every  month  out  of  the  rent. 

The  Gregorics  divided  the  18,000  florins  re- 
fused by  the  nine  ladies,  among  the  three  of  them, 
and  also  the  few  hundreds  obtained  by  the  sale 
of  the  dead  man's  furniture  and  personal  prop- 
erty, but  the  rest  of  the  money  was  still  missing. 

The  whole  town  was  discussing  the  question 
of  its  whereabouts,  and  all  sorts  of  silly  tales  were 
set  afloat.  Some  said  the  old  gentleman  had  sent 
it  to  Klapka,  and  that  one  day  Klapka  would 
return  with  it  in  the  form  of  guns  and  cannon. 
Others  said  he  had  a  castle,  somewhere  away  in 
the  woods,  where  he  kept  a  very  beautiful  lady, 
and  even  if  he  had  not  been  able  to  eat  up  his 

98 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

fortune  in  the  form  of  melted  gold,  a  pretty 
woman  would  soon  know  how  to  dispose  of  it. 

But  what  made  the  most  impression  on  every 
one  was,  that  an  ironmonger  appeared  at  Caspar's 
house  with  a  bill  for  a  large  caldron  Gregorics 
had  bought  the  day  before  his  death,  but  had  not 
paid  for. 

Caspar  gave  a  long  whistle. 

"  That  caldron  was  not  among  the  things  we 
sold,"  he  said.  And  he  went  through  the  inven- 
tory again;  but  no,  the  caldron  was  not  there. 

"  I  am  on  the  right  road,"  thought  Caspar. 
"  He  did  not  buy  the  caldron  for  nothing.  Conse- 
quently, what  did  he  buy  it  for?  Why,  to  put 
something  in  it  of  course,  and  that  something  is 
what  we  are  looking  for !" 

Boldizsar  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and  posi- 
tively beamed  with  delight. 

"  It  is  God's  finger,"  he  said.  "  Now  I  believe 
we  shall  find  the  treasure.  Pal  must  have  buried 
the  caldron  somewhere,  thinking  to  do  us  out  of 
our  rights ;  and  he  would  have  succeeded  if  he  had 
not  been  so  stupid  as  not  to  pay  for  the  caldron. 
But  luckily  in  cases  of  this  kind  the  wrongdoer 
generally  makes  some  stupid  mistake." 

.  The  ironmonger  remembered  that  it  was  Ma- 
tyko  who  had  chosen  the  caldron  and  taken  it 
with  him ;  so  Caspar  one  day  sent  for  the  servant, 
gave  him  a  good  dinner  with  plenty  of  wine,  and 

99 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


began  to  question  him  about  Pal's  last  days, 
introducing  the  incident  of  the  caldron,  the  bill 
for  which  the  ironmonger  had  just  sent  him  he 
said. 

"What  about  it,  Matyko,"  he  asked.  "Did 
your  master  really  order  it  ?  I  can  hardly  believe 
it,  for  what  could  he  have  wanted  it  for?  I'm 
afraid  you  have  been  buying  things  for  yourself, 
in  your  master's  name." 

That  was  the  very  way  to  make  Matyko  speak, 
to  doubt  his  honor ;  and  now  he  let  out  the  whole 
story  in  order  to  clear  himself.  The  day  before 
his  death,  his  master  had  told  him  to  go  and  buy 
a  caldron,  and  bring  it  him,  together  with  two 
masons.  He  had  done  as  he  was  told,  and  toward 
evening  had  taken  the  caldron  into  his  master's 
bedroom;  the  masons  had  arrived  at  the  same 
time,  and  had  seen  the  caldron,  so  they  could  bear 
witness  to  the  fact. 

"  Well,  that's  right,  Matyko,  you're  a  lucky 
fellow,  for  if  you  have  two  witnesses,  your  honor 
is  as  intact  as  ever,  and  you  must  consider  my 
words  as  unspoken.  Drink  another  glass  of  wine, 
and  don't  be  offended  at  my  suspicion;  after  all, 
it  was  only  a  natural  conclusion;  we  could  find 
no  traces  of  the  caldron,  and  the  ironmonger 
wanted  to  be  paid  for  it,  and  said  you  had  taken 
it  away.  Where  can  it  have  got  to  ?" 

"  Heaven  only  knows,"  answered  Matyko. 

100 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

"  Did  you  never  see  it  again?" 
j    "Never." 

'     "  And  what  became  of  the  masons  ?    What  did 
they  come  for?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

Caspar  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  man. 

"  You  are  like  '  John  Don't-know'  in  the  fairy 
tale.  He  always  answered,  '  I  don't  know'  to 
everything  that  was  asked  him.  Of  course  you 
don't  know  the  two  witnesses  either  who  could 
establish  your  innocence  ?  In  that  case,  my  good 
fellow,  you're  no  better  off  than  you  were  before." 

"  But  I  do  know  one  of  them." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  his  name." 

"  Well,  how  do  you  know  him,  then  ?" 

"  He  has  three  hairs  at  the  end  of  his  nose." 

"  Rubbish !  He  may  have  cut  them  off  since 
then." 

"  I  should  know  him  all  the  same  by  his  face ; 
it  is  just  like  an  owl's." 

"  And  where  did  you  pick  up  the  two  masons  ?" 

"  They  were  mending  the  wall  of  the  parish 
church." 

By  degrees  Caspar  Gregorics  got  all  particulars 
out  of  the  man;  and  now  the  ground  seemed  to 
be  burning  under  his  feet,  so  he  went  straight 
into  the  town  to  look  for  the  man  with  the  three 
hairs  on  his  nose. 

101 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


It  was  not  difficult  to  find  him,  and  at  the  first 
place  he  asked  at,  three  voices  answered  at  once : 

"  That  must  be  Andras  Prepelicza.  His  mus- 
tache made  a  mistake,  and  grew  on  the  top  of  his 
nose  instead  of  on  his  lip." 

After  that  it  was  mere  child's  play,  for  every 
workman  knew  that  Prepelicza  was  "  building 
Pest,"  as  they  expressed  it.  He  was  working  at 
a  large  house  in  the  Kerepesi  Street. 

Caspar  immediately  had  the  horses  harnessed, 
and  drove  to  Pest,  not  stopping  till  he  reached 
the  capital;  and  there  he  set  to  work  to  find 
Prepelicza  among  the  Slovak  workmen.  The 
mason  was  just  going  up  on  a  pulley  to  the  third 
story  when  he  found  him,  and  Caspar  shuddered 
as  he  thought :  "  Supposing  the  cords  were  to 
give  way  now !" 

"Hallo,  Prepelicza!"  he  shouted.  "Wait  a 
bit,  I  was  just  looking  for  you.  I  want  to  have 
a  talk  with  you." 

"  All  right,"  called  out  the  mason,  examining 
the  newcomer  from  above.  "  Come  up  if  you 
want  to  talk." 

"  You  come  down  to  me,  it  is  very  important." 

"  Well,  shout  it  out,  I  can  hear  it  all  right  up 
here." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  I  must  speak  to  you  in  private 
at  any  cost." 

"Good  or  bad?" 

102 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

"  Very  good." 

"Good  forme?" 

"  Yes,  good  for  you." 

"  Well,  if  it  is  good  for  me  it  can  wait  till  the 
evening.  I  shall  be  down  by  then,  but  I  want 
to  finish  this  top  window  first." 

"  Don't  argue,  but  come  down  at  once.  You 
won't  be  sorry  for  it." 

"  Why,  I  don't  even  know  who  you  are." 

"  I'll  send  you  word  in  a  minute." 

And  with  the  next  pulley  he  sent  Prepelicza  up 
a  nice  new  crisp  ten-florin  note.  The  man  who 
took  it  up  got  a  florin  for  doing  so. 

At  the  sight  of  this  novel  visiting-card  Prepe- 
licza threw  down  his  hammer  and  trowel,  and 
with  the  next  pulley  returned  to  his  mother  earth, 
where  miracles  have  been  going  on  ever  since  the 
time  of  Moses. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?" 

"  Follow  me." 

"  To  the  end  of  the  world,  sir." 

"  We  need  not  go  as  far  as  that,"  said  Gregor- 
ics, smiling.  And  they  only  went  as  far  as  "  The 
Cock,"  a  small  public-house,  where  they  ordered 
some  wine,  after  drinking  which,  the  wily  Caspar 
began,  smiling  blandly: 

"Can  you  speak,  Prepelicza?" 

The  mason  began  to  wonder  what  was  going 
to  happen,  and  looked  long  and  attentively  into 

103 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


the  steely  gray  eyes  of  his  new  acquaintance,  and 
then  said  guardedly : 

"  A  jay  can  speak,  sir." 
'     "  I  am  from  Besztercebanya." 

"  Really  ?  There  are  very  decent  people  there. 
I  seem  to  know  your  face  too,  sir." 

"  You  probably  mistake  me  for  my  half- 
brother,"  said  Caspar.  "  You  know,  the  one  who 
had  the  caldron  put  away  so  secretly." 

"  The  caldron !"  Prepelicza's  mouth  was  wide 
open  from  astonishment.  "  Was  that  your 
brother?  Now  I  understand  where  the  likeness 
is,  at  least  ...  I  mean  .  .  .  (and  he  began  to 
scratch  his  ear  doubtfully).  What  caldron  are 
you  speaking  of  ?  I  can't  be  expected  to  remember 
every  pot  and  pan  I  have  seen  in  my  life." 

Caspar  was  prepared  for  such  hitches  as  this, 
so  was  not  surprised,  and  offered  the  mason  a 
cigar,  which  he  immediately  wetted  to  make  it 
burn  slower,  then  lit  it,  and  began  to  drum  on  the 
table  like  a  man  who  has  just  found  out  that  he 
has  something  to  sell,  and  has  the  right  purchaser 
before  him.  Now  he  must  be  as  phlegmatic  as 
possible,  and  the  price  of  the  article  would  rise 
in  proportion. 

His  heart  beat  loud  and  fast,  and  the  white 
cock  framed  on  the  wall  above  the  green  table 
seemed  to  awake  to  life  before  his  eyes,  and  to 
crow  out  these  words :  "  Good  afternoon,  Andras 

104 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

Prepelicza!  Cock-a-doodledo.  You  have  luck 
before  you !  Seize  hold  of  it !" 

"  What  do  you  say,  Prepelicza,  you  don't  re- 
member the  caldron  ?  What  do  you  take  me  for  ? 
Do  I  look  like  a  fool?  But  I  daresay  in  your 
place  I  should  do  the  same.  This  wine  is  very 
good,  isn't  it?  What  do  you  say?  It  tastes  of 
the  cask?  Why,  my  good  fellow,  it  can't  taste 
of  mortar,  can  it?  Here,  waiter,  fetch  another 
bottle  of  wine,  and  then  be  off  and  leave  us  alone. 
Well,  what  were  we  speaking  of?  Ah,  yes,  you 
said  a  short  time  ago  that  the  jay  could  speak,  and 
that  is  quite  true ;  you  are  a  wise  man,  Prepelicza, 
and  the  right  man  for  me,  for  we  shall  soon  come 
to  terms.  Yes,  the  jay  can  speak,  but  only  if  they 
cut  its  tongue.  That  is  what  you  meant,  isn't  it?" 

"  H'm !"  was  the  answer,  and  the  three  hairs 
on  the  mason's  nose  began  to  move,  as  though 
a  breath  of  air  had  passed  through  them. 

"  I  know  of  course  that  they  cut  the  jay's 
tongue  with  a  knife,  but  as  you  are  not  a  bird, 
Prepelicza  .  .  ." 

"  No,  no,"  stammered  the  man  hastily. 

"  Well,  instead  of  a  knife  I  take  these  two 
bank-notes  to  cut  your  tongue  with." 

And  with  that  he  took  two  hundred-florin 
bank-notes  out  of  his  pocket-book. 

The  eyes  of  the  mason  fixed  themselves  greed- 
ily upon  the  bank-notes,  upon  the  two  figures 

105 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


printed  on  them,  one  holding  a  sheaf  of  wheat, 
the  other  a  book;  his  eyes  nearly  dropped  out  of 
his  head  he  stared  so  hard,  and  then  he  said : 

"  The  caldron  was  heavy,  very  heavy  indeed." 

That  was  all  he  could  get  out,  while  he  contin- 
ued gazing  at  the  two  cherubs  on  the  paper  notes. 
He  had  six  of  his  own  at  home,  but  they  were  not 
as  pretty  as  these. 

"  Well,  my  good  man,"  said  Gregorics  sur- 
prised, "still  silent?" 

"  It  would  be  like  a  stone  on  my  heart  if  I  were 
to  speak,"  sighed  the  mason — "  a  very  big  stone. 
I  don't  think  I  could  bear  it." 

"Don't  talk  such  nonsense!  A  stone,  indeed! 
Why,  you  have  had  to  do  with  nothing  else  all 
your  life,  you  need  not  cry  about  having  one  on 
your  heart!  You  can't  expect  me  to  give  you 
two  hundred  florins,  and  then  give  you  a  hot  roll 
to  carry  in  your  heart.  Don't  be  a  fool,  man." 

Prepelicza  smiled  at  this,  but  he  put  his  big 
red  hands  behind  his  back,  a  sign  that  he  did  not 
intend  to  touch  the  money. 

"  Perhaps  you  find  it  too  little?" 

Not  a  word  did  he  answer,  only  pushed  his  hair 
up  in  front,  till  he  looked  like  a  sick  cockatoo; 
then,  after  a  few  moments,  raised  his  glass  to  his 
lips,  and  drained  it  to  the  dregs,  and  then  put  it 
back  on  the  table  so  brusquely  that  it  broke. 

"It  is  disgraceful!"  he  burst  out;  "a  poor 

1 06 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

man's  honor  is  only  worth  two  hundred  florins, 
though  God  created  us  all  equal,  and  He  gave  me 
my  honor  as  well  as  to  the  bishop  or  to  Baron 
Radvanszky.  And  yet  you  tax  mine  at  two  hun- 
dred florins.  It's  a  shame!" 

Upon  that  Caspar  decided  to  play  his  trump. 

"  Very  well,  Prepelicza,  you  needn't  be  so  cross. 
If  your  honor  is  so  dear,  I'll  look  for  cheaper." 

And  with  that  he  put  back  the  two  bank-notes 
in  his  pocket. 

"  I'll  look  up  your  companion,  the  other 
mason." 

Then  he  called  the  head  waiter,  in  order  to 
pay  for  the  wine.  Prepelicza  smiled. 

"  Well,  well,  can't  a  poor  man  give  his  opinion  ? 
Of  course  you  can  look  up  the  other  man,  and  he 
won't  be  as  honest  as  I,  probably.  But  .  .  . 
well,  put  another  fifty  to  it,  and  I'll  tell  you  all." 

"  Very  well.     It's  a  bargain !" 

And  the  mason  began  to  relate  the  events  of 
that  memorable  night,  and  how  they  had  carried 
the  caldron  through  the  courtyard  and  garden  to 
a  small  house. 

"  To  the  '  Lebanon' !"  exclaimed  Caspar  ex- 
citedly. "  To  that  boy's  house !" 

And  the  mason  went  on  to  tell  how  Gregorics 
had  stood  by  while  they  had  walled  in  the  caldron, 
and  watched  every  movement,  Caspar  throwing 
in  a  question  now  and  then. 

107 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"Was  it  heavy?" 

"  Very  heavy." 

"  Did  no  one  see  you  as  you  passed  through 
the  courtyard  ?" 

"  No  one;  every  one  had  gone  to  bed." 

Caspar  was  quite  excited,  and  seemed  to  enjoy 
every  word  he  heard ;  his  eyes  shone,  his  thoughts 
were  occupied  with  the  future,  in  which  he  imag- 
ined himself  a  rich  man,  the  owner  of  untold 
wealth.  He  might  even  buy  a  baronetcy !  Baron 
Caspar  Gregorics!  How  well  it  sounded!  And 
Minka  would  be  a  little  baroness.  That  fool  of 
a  Pal  had  not  known  how  to  make  proper  use 
of  his  wealth,  so  it  must  have  increased  im- 
mensely, he  had  been  so  economical ! 

"  And  what  did  my  brother  pay  you  for  your 
work?" 

"  He  gave  us  each  fifty  florins." 

"  That  was  quite  right  of  him." 

A  weight  had  fallen  from  his  heart  at  these 
words,  for  he  had  begun  to  fear  Gregorics  had 
given  them  some  thousands  to  buy  their  silence, 
and  that  would  have  been  a  great  pity,  as  it  would 
have  diminished  the  sum  he  hoped  to  possess 
before  long.  For  he  had  decided  to  buy  "  Leba- 
non," with  its  caldron  and  its  orchard.  He  would 
go  to-morrow  to  that  boy's  guardian  and  make 
an  offer  for  it.  And  he  rejoiced  inwardly  at  the 
trick  he  was  playing  his  brother  and  sister. 

1 08 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

He  returned  home  as  fast  as  horses  could  take 
him,  and  did  not  even  stop  at  his  own  house,  but 
went  straight  on  to  Sztolarik's  and  informed  him 
he  would  like  to  buy  "  Lebanon." 

This  was  the  name  they  had  given  to  the 
orchard  and  house  old  Gregorics  had  bought  of 
the  clergyman's  widow.  He  had  tried  to  grow 
cedars  there  at  first,  but  the  soil  of  Besztercebanya 
was  not  suitable  for  these  trees,  and  the  sarcastic 
inhabitants  of  the  small  town  christened  the 
orchard  "  Lebanon." 

Mr.  Sztolarik  showed  no  surprise  at  the  offer. 

"  So  you  want  to  buy  '  Lebanon'  ?"  he  said. 
"  It  is  a  good  orchard,  and  produces  the  finest 
fruit  imaginable.  This  year  a  well-known  hotel- 
keeper  bought  all  the  fruit,  and  paid  an  enormous 
price  for  it.  But  what  made  you  think  of  buying 
'Lebanon'?" 

"  I  should  like  to  build  a  house  there,  a  larger 
house  than  the  present  one." 

"  H'm !  There  is  always  a  good  deal  of  bother 
attached  to  a  purchase  of  that  kind,"  said  Sztola- 
rik coldly ;  "  the  present  owner  is  a  minor,  and  the 
Court  of  Chancery  must  give  permission  for  the 
sale  to  take  place.  I  would  rather  leave  things 
as  they  are.  When  the  boy  is  of  age  he  may  do 
what  he  likes,  but  if  I  sell  it  now  he  may  be  sorry 
for  it  later  on.  No,  no,  Mr.  Gregorics,  I  can't 
agree  to  it.  After  all  the  house  and  orchard  are 

109 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


a  pretium  affectionis  for  the  boy;  he  spent  his 
childhood  there." 

"  But  if  I  offer  a  good  sum  for  it,"  broke  in 
Caspar,  nervously. 

Sztolarik  began  to  feel  curious. 

"  What  do  you  consider  a  good  sum  ?  What 
do  you  think  of  offering  for  it  ?" 

"  Why,  I  would  give — "  and  here  he  was  over- 
come by  a  fit  of  coughing,  which  made  him  turn 
as  red  as  a  peony — "  I  would  give  15,000  florins." 

Well,  that  was  a  brilliant  offer,  for  Pal  Gregor- 
ics  had  bought  it  of  the  clergyman's  widow  for 
5000  florins.  It  was  only  a  small  bit  of  ground, 
and  a  good  way  from  the  market,  which  decreased 
its  value  exceedingly. 

"  Utcumque,"  said  Sztolarik,  "  your  offer  is 
a  good  one.  But,  but  .  .  .  well,  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Mr.  Gregorics,  I'll  consider  your  offer 
a  bit,  and  I  must  write  to  the  boy  about  it  too, 
and  also  speak  to  his  mother." 

"  But  I  want  to  settle  it  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  I'll  write  about  it  to-day." 

Caspar  did  not  wish  to  say  any  more  about  the 
matter,  for  fear  of  awakening  the  lawyer's  sus- 
picions, but  a  day  or  two  afterward  he  sent  a  tiny 
cask  of  Tokay  wine  to  him  (some  Pal  Gregorics 
had  left  in  his  cellar,  and  which  they  had  divided 
among  them),  with  the  inquiry  as  to  whether  he 
had  any  answer  from  Budapest.  Sztolarik  sent 

no 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

back  word  he  expected  a  letter  every  minute,  and 
thanked  him  very  much  for  the  wine;  he  also 
remarked  to  the  footman  who  had  brought  it  that 
he  hoped  it  would  go  smoothly,  but  whether  he 
meant  the  wine,  or  something  else,  the  footman 
did  not  quite  understand. 

Hardly  had  the  man  gone,  when  the  expected 
letter  arrived,  containing  the  news  that  Gyuri 
agreed  to  the  sale  of  the  orchard,  and  Sztolarik 
was  just  going  to  send  one  of  his  clerks  to 
Caspar,  when  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked 
Boldizsar  Gregorics,  puffing  and  blowing  from 
the  haste  he  had  made. 

"  Pray  take  a  seat,  Mr.  Gregorics.  To  what 
do  I  owe  the  honor  of  your  visit  ?" 

"I've  brought  you  a  lot  of  money,"  gasped 
Boldizsar,  still  out  of  breath. 

"  We  can  always  do  with  plenty  of  that,"  said 
the  lawyer. 

"  I  want  to  buy  that  poor  orphan's  little  bit  of 
property,  '  Lebanon.' ' 

'  Lebanon'  ?"  repeated  Sztolarik,  surprised. 
"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  them  all?" 
he  muttered  to  himself ;  then  continued  out  loud : 
"  Perhaps  you  want  it  for  your  brother?" 

"  No,  no,  I  want  it  for  myself.  It  would  suit 
me  nicely;  the  view  from  there  is  so  lovely,  and 
the  fruit-trees  are  so  good." 

"It  is  really  strange,  very  strange !" 

in 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"Why  is  it  strange?"  said  the  other,  sur- 
prised. 

"  Because  I  have  already  one  purchaser  in 
view." 

"  Well,  we  won't  let  him  have  it.  I  daresay  I 
can  offer  you  more  than  he." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  the  lawyer;  "  the  first  offer 
was  15,000  florins." 

Boldizsar  showed  no  surprise. 

"  Well,  I  offer  20,000." 

Not  till  after  he  had  said  it  did  it  occur  to  him 
that  the  orchard  was  not  worth  even  15,000  florins, 
and  he  turned  impatiently  and  asked : 

"  Who  is  the  fool  who  offers  so  much  ?" 

"  Your  brother  Gaspar." 

At  this  name  Boldizsar  turned  deathly  pale,  and 
dropped  gasping  on  to  a  chair.  His  lips  moved, 
but  no  sound  came  from  them,  and  Sztolarik 
thought  he  would  have  a  stroke,  and  rushed  out 
for  some  water,  calling  for  help  as  he  went;  but 
when  he  returned  with  the  cook  armed  with  a 
rolling-pin  and  a  jug  of  water,  the  old  gentleman 
had  recovered,  and  began  to  excuse  himself. 

"  I  felt  a  bit  giddy ;  I  often  have  attacks  like 
this.  I'm  getting  old,  you  see.  And  now  to  return 
to  our  discussion.  Yes,  I'll  give  you  20,000  florins 
for  '  Lebanon,'  and  pay  the  money  down." 

The  lawyer  thought  a  minute,  then  said : 

"  We  can't  manage  things  so  quickly,  for  we 

112 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

must  have  the  consent  of  the  Court  of  Chancery. 
I'll  see  about  it  at  once." 

And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word,  for  such  an 
advantageous  sale  of  the  orchard  he  had  never 
dared  to  hope  for.  But  all  the  time  he  was  won- 
dering why  the  two  Gregorics  were  so  anxious 
to  have  it.  There  must  be  some  reason  for  it. 
Supposing  they  had  struck  upon  some  treasure 
there,  it  was  not  impossible,  for  had  not  King 
Arpad  and  his  successors  lived  about  here? 
He  decided  to  send  Istvan  Drotler,  the  civil 
engineer,  to  have  a  look  at  the  place,  and  see  if 
it  contained  gold  or  coal.  But  before  he  had  time 
to  start  for  the  engineer's,  Caspar  Gregorics 
appeared  on  the  scene,  to  ask  if  there  were  any 
letter  from  Pest.  Sztolarik  was  in  difficulties. 

"  The  letter  is  here,  yes,  the  letter  is  here ;  but 
something  else  has  happened.  Another  purchaser 
has  turned  up,  and  he  offers  20,000  florins  for 
'  Lebanon.'  " 

This  was  evidently  a  great  blow  for  Caspar. 

"  Impossible,"  he  stammered.  "  Is  it  Boldiz- 
sar?" 

"  Yes." 

Caspar  was  furious;  he  began  to  swear  like 
a  trooper,  and  waved  his  stick  about,  thereby 
knocking  down  one  of  Mrs.  Sztolarik's  flower- 
pots, in  which  a  rare  specimen  of  hyacinth  was 
just  blossoming. 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  The  wretch !"  he  hissed.  And  then  he  sat 
staring  fixedly  in  front  of  him  for  some  time. 

How  did  he  get  to  know  of  it  ?  was  the  question 
he  was  revolving  in  his  mind.  It  was  very  simple. 
That  sly  Prepelicza  had  easily  found  out  in 
Besztercebanya  that  Pal  Gregorics  had  more  than 
one  brother  living,  and  he  decided  that  if  one  of 
them  paid  him  250  florins  for  the  secret,  the  other 
would  perhaps  be  inclined  to  pay  something  too. 
So  he  got  into  the  train,  travelled  to  Beszterce- 
banya, and  looked  up  Boldizsar.  There  was 
nothing  surprising  in  that  except,  perhaps,  the 
fact  that  Prepelicza  was  not  such  a  fool  as  he 
looked. 

"  Oh,  the  wretch !"  Caspar  kept  on  saying. 
"  But  he  shall  not  have  it,  I  will  buy  it.  I'll  give 
you  25,000  florins  for  it." 

Sztolarik  smiled  and  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  It  will  belong  to  the  one  who  gives  most  for 
it.  If  it  were  mine,  I  would  give  it  you  for  the 
15,000  florins  you  offered  at  first,  for  I  always 
keep  my  word.  But  as  it  belongs  to  a  minor,  and 
I  have  his  interests  at  heart,  I  must  do  the  best 
I  can  for  him.  Now  don't  you  think  I  am  right  ?" 

Caspar  agreed  with  him,  and  tried  to  make  him 
promise  to  give  him  the  preference.  But  what 
was  the  good  of  it  ?  Sztolarik  met  Boldizsar  that 
evening  at  the  club,  and  made  no  secret  of  the 
fact  that  Caspar  had  been  to  see  him  that  morn- 

114 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

ing,  and  offered  him  5000  florins  more  for  the 
orchard.  But  Boldizsar  was  not  surprised,  and 
only  answered: 

"  Well,  I  will  give  30,000." 

And  this  mad  auction  went  on  for  days,  until 
the  attention  of  the  whole  town  was  drawn  to 
it,  and  people  began  to  think  the  Gregorics  must 
have  gone  mad,  or  that  there  must  be  some  impor- 
tant reason  for  their  wishing  to  have  possession 
of  "  Lebanon." 

Caspar  came  and  offered  32,000  florins,  and 
as  soon  as  Boldizsar  heard  of  it,  he  came  and 
offered  3000  florins  more;  and  so  on,  until 
people's  hair  began  to  stand  on  end. 

"  Let  them  go  on  as  long  as  they  like,"  thought 
the  lawyer. 

And  they  did  go  on,  until  they  reached  the  sum 
of  50,000  florins,  which  was  Boldizsar's  last  offer. 
And  heaven  only  knows  how  long  it  would  have 
gone  on  still. 

The  engineer  had  been  to  look  at  the  place,  and 
had  declared  there  was  nothing  of  any  value  to 
be  found  there,  not  even  a  bit  of  gold,  unless  it 
were  the  stoppings  of  some  dead  woman's  teeth. 

"  But  supposing  there  is  coal  there  ?" 

"  Not  a  sign  of  it." 

"  Then  what  on  earth  are  the  Gregorics  think- 
ing of?" 

Whatever  the  reason  was,  it  was  certainly  to 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Gyuri's  advantage,  and  his  guardian  meant  to 
make  the  most  of  the  opportunity,  so  he  let  the 
two  brothers  go  on  bidding  till  the  sum  promised 
was  50,000  florins.  He  intended  to  wait  till 
Caspar  capped  it  with  52,000,  and  then  close  the 
bargain. 

'  But  he  had  reckoned  without  his  host,  for  one 
fine  day  it  suddenly  occurred  to  Caspar  it  was 
strange  Mrs.  Panyoki  showed  no  signs  of  taking 
part  in  the  auction.  She  evidently  knew  nothing 
of  the  existence  of  the  treasure;  Prepelicza  had 
not  told  her  the  secret,  and  had  thus  proved  him- 
self a  clever  man,  for  if  he  had  told  her  too,  his 
part  in  the  play  was  over.  Whereas  now,  when 
the  two  brothers  had  the  caldron  in  their  posses- 
sion, they  would  be  obliged  to  pay  him  hush- 
money  to  hold  his  tongue.  As  Caspar  turned  all 
this  over  in  his  mind,  he  began  to  find  it  ridiculous 
for  him  and  Boldizsar  to  keep  on  outbidding  each 
other,  thus  attracting  every  one's  attention  to 
them,  putting  money  into  the  boy's  pocket,  and 
awakening  Mrs.  Panyoki's  suspicions.  And 
whichever  bought  "  Lebanon"  at  last  would  cer- 
tainly not  be  left  to  enjoy  it  unmolested.  So  he 
decided  it  would  be  cheaper  if  they  were  to  work 
together,  buy  the  estate,  share  the  contents  of  the 
caldron,  and  pay  Prepelicza  a  certain  sum  yearly 
to  hold  his  tongue. 

So  one  day  the  brothers  came  to  terms,  and 

116 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

Sztolarik  was  very  surprised  when,  the  next  day, 
the  door  opened,  and  in  walked  Boldizsar  and 
announced  that  he  had  thought  things  over,  and 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  "  Lebanon"  was 
decidedly  not  worth  50,000  florins,  and  he  had 
given  up  all  idea  of  buying  it. 

"  That  does  not  matter,"  said  Sztolarik,  "  your 
brother  will  give  us  48,000  for  it." 

And  he  waited  impatiently  till  he  had  a  chance 
of  speaking  to  Caspar  about  it.  But  that  good 
man  calmly  answered : 

"  It  was  very  stupid  of  me  to  offer  so  much  for 
it,  and  I  am  really  grateful  to  you,  Sztolarik,  for 
not  taking  me  at  my  word  at  once.  Why,  I  can 
buy  a  good-sized  estate  for  the  money  I  offered 
for  it." 

The  lawyer  hardly  knew  what  to  do  next.  He 
was  afraid  he  had  made  them  go  back  on  their 
bargain,  by  letting  them  carry  it  on  so  long,  and 
felt  sure  he  would  be  the  laughing  stock  of  the 
town,  and  that  Gyuri  would  reproach  him  with 
not  looking  after  his  interests  properly.  So  off  he 
rushed  to  Boldizsar  and  offered  him  "  Lebanon" 
for  45,000  florins;  but  Boldizsar  only  laughed, 
and  said: 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?" 

Whereupon  he  went  to  Caspar  and  said: 

"  Well,  you  may  have  '  Lebanon'  for  40,000 
florins." 

117 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Caspar  shook  his  head  and  answered: 

"  I'm  not  quite  mad  yet." 

And  now  the  auction  began  again,  but  this 
time  it  went  backward,  until  at  last,  with  the 
greatest  difficulty,  Sztolarik  got  15,000  florins 
out  of  them.  They  bought  it  together,  and  both 
signed  their  names  to  the  deeds. 

On  the  day  they  received  the  key  of  the  house 
from  the  guardian,  they  both  went  there,  shut 
themselves  in,  and  began  to  pull  down  the  inner 
wall  with  the  pickaxes  they  had  brought  with 
them  under  their  cloaks.  Of  course  they  found 
the  caldron,  but  what  was  in  it  has  not  become 
clear  to  this  day,  though  that  was  the  chief  point 
to  be  settled  in  the  Gregorics  lawsuit,  which  took 
up  the  attention  of  the  Besztercebanya  law  courts 
for  ten  years. 

It  began  in  this  way.  A  few  months  after  the 
purchase  of  "  Lebanon,"  Prepelicza  appeared  on 
the  scene,  and  demanded  his  share  of  the  treasure 
discovered  in  the  wall,  otherwise  he  would  make 
known  the  whole  affair  to  Mrs.  Panyoki. 
The  brothers  got  mad  with  rage  at  the  sight 
of  him.  i  tit; 

"You  miserable  thief!"  they  cried.  "You 
were  a  party  to  the  fraud  practised  upon  us  by 
that  good-for-nothing  brother  of  ours,  who 
wanted  to  rob  us  in  order  to  benefit  that  boy. 
You  helped  him  to  fill  the  caldron  with  rusty  nails 

118 


The  Avaricious  Gregorics 

and  bits  of  old  iron.  Now  you  are  here,  you 
may  as  well  have  your  share." 

With  that  they  each  seized  hold  of  a  stick,  and 
began  to  beat  Prepelkza  till  he  was  black  and 
blue.  Off  he  went  to  a  doctor  for  a  certificate  as 
to  his  wounds,  and  then  to  the  barber,  who  had 
to  write  a  long  letter  to  the  king  in  his  name, 
complaining  of  the  behavior  of  the  two  brothers 
Gregorics  toward  one  of  his  honest  (?)  subjects. 

"  If  the  king  is  not  ashamed  of  them  as  sub- 
jects, I  am  not  ashamed  of  owning  how  I  have 
been  beaten;  they  were  two  to  one!" 

Then  he  hired  a  cart  (for  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  walk  in  his  present  state),  and  drove 
to  Varecska,  where  Mrs.  Panyoki  spent  the 
summer,  and  told  her  the  whole  tale  from  begin- 
ning to  end. 

The  result  was  the  lawsuit  Panyoki  versus 
Gregorics,  which  furnished  the  neighborhood 
with  gossip  for  ten  years.  A  whole  legion  of 
witnesses  had  to  be  examined,  and  the  deeds  and 
papers  increased  to  such  an  extent  that  at  the  end 
they  weighed  seventy-three  pounds.  Mrs.  Pan- 
yoki could  only  prove  the  existence  of  the  caldron, 
its  having  been  walled  in,  and  its  appropriation 
later  on  by  the  two  brothers,  who,  on  their  part, 
tried  to  prove  that  it  contained  nothing  of  value, 
only  a  number  of  rusty  nails  and  odd  bits  of  iron. 
As  the  dead  man  had  no  lawyer  to  defend  him, 

119 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


he  lost  the  lawsuit,  for  it  was  certain  he  had 
played  the  trick  on  his  relations,  and  thus  brought 
about  the  lawsuit,  which  only  ended  when  it  was 
all  the  same  which  side  lost  or  won  it,  for  the 
seventy-three  pounds  of  paper  and  the  six  lawyers 
had  eaten  up  the  whole  of  the  Gregorics  and 
Panyoki  fortunes.  By  degrees  all  the  members 
of  the  family  died  in  poverty,  and  were  forgotten ; 
only  Pal  Gregorics  lived  in  the  memories  of  the 
six  lawyers,  who  remarked  from  time  to  time: 
"  He  was  a  clever  man !" 

But  in  spite  of  all  researches,  the  dead  man's 
fortune  was  still  missing,  not  a  trace  of  it  was 
to  be  found,  no  one  had  inherited  it  except  rumor, 
which  did  as  it  liked  with  it,  decreased  it,  increased 
it,  placed  it  here  or  there  at  pleasure. 


Traces 


PART  III 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   UMBRELLA   AGAIN. 

MANY  years  passed,  and  things  had  changed 
very  much  in  Besztercebanya,  but  the  thing  that 
will  interest  us  most  is  the  door-plate  on  the 
house  formerly  inhabited  by  old  Gregorics,  on 
which  is  to  be  read :  "  Gyorgy  Wibra,  lawyer." 

Yes,  little  Gyuri  is  now  a  well-known  lawyer; 
people  come  to  him  from  all  sides  for  advice,  and 
young  girls  smile  at  him  from  their  windows  as 
he  passes.  He  is  a  very  handsome  young  man, 
and  clever.  He  has  youth  and  health,  and  his 
whole  life  before  him,  what  more  can  he  want? 
But  the  narrow-minded  inhabitants  of  the  little 
town  are  at  present  only  occupied  with  one  ques- 
tion, viz.,  whom  will  he  marry?  Why,  Katka 
Krikovszky  would  marry  him  any  day,  and  she 
is  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  town.  Then  there  is 
Mathilda  Hupka,  who  would  receive  him  with 
open  arms  if  he  came  to  her  with  a  proposal, 
though  she  is  very  high  and  mighty.  And  even 

123 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Mariska  Biky  would  not  refuse  him,  and  she 
belongs  to  the  nobility,  and  has  50,000  florins. 
Girls  are  very  cheap  nowadays!  But  Gyuri 
Wibra  paid  no  attention  to  any  of  them ;  he  was 
a  serious  and  retiring  young  man,  and  his  friends 
soon  saw  that  he  was  infinitely  above  them  in 
every  way.  As  a  rule  young  men  first  take  their 
diploma,  then  start  an  office,  look  out  for  clients 
who  do  not  come,  and  by  their  absence  make  the 
place  seem  so  large  and  empty,  that  the  young 
lawyer  feels  he  must  have  company  of  some  kind. 
So  he  brings  home  a  wife  to  cheer  his  solitude. 

But  it  never  occurred  to  Gyuri  to  marry.  And 
once  when  Mrs.  Krikovszky  broached  the  subject 
to  him  and  asked  when  they  would  hear  of  his 
engagement,  he  answered  absently: 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  marrying." 

It  certainly  is  a  bad  "  habit,"  but  one  that  does 
not  seem  inclined  to  go  out  of  fashion.  For 
thousands  of  years  people  have  been  marrying, 
repenting  of  it,  and  considering  it  madness  to 
have  done  so,  but  they  never  get  over  the  madness, 
and  marriage  is  as  fashionable  as  ever.  As  long 
as  pretty  young  girls  are  growing  up,  they  are 
always  growing  up  for  some  one. 

Gyuri's  business  was  a  brilliant  success  from  the 
beginning;  fortune  smiled  on  him  from  every 
side,  but  he  received  it  with  a  tolerably  sour  face. 
He  worked,  but  only  from  habit,  just  the  same 

124 


The  Umbrella  Again 


as  he  washed  himself  and  brushed  his  hair  every 
day.  His  mind  was  elsewhere;  but  where?  His 
friends  thought  they  knew,  and  often  asked  him : 

"  Why  don't  you  marry,  old  fellow?" 

"  Because  I  am  not  rich  enough." 

"  Why,   that  is   the  very-treason  you   should 
marry.     Your  wife  will  bring  the  money  with 
her." 
.  (That  is  the  usual  opinion  of  young  men.) 

Gyuri  shook  his  head,  a  handsome,  manly  head, 
with  an  oval  face,  and  large  black  eyes. 

"  That  is  not  true.  It  is  the  money  brings  the 
wife!" 

What  sort  of  a  wife  had  he  set  his  heart  on? 
His  friends  decided  he  must  be  chasing  very 
high  game.  Perhaps  he  wanted  a  baroness,  or 
even  a  countess?  He  was  like  the  Virginian 
creeper  they  said,  which  first  climbs  very  high 
and  then  blossoms.  But  if  he  were  to  marry,  he 
could  be  successful  later  on  all  the  same.  Look 
at  the  French  beans;  they  climb  and  blossom  at 
the  same  time. 

But  this  was  all  empty  talk.  There  was  nothing 
whatever  to  prevent  Gyuri  getting  on  in  his  pro- 
fession; nothing  troubled  him,  neither  a  pretty 
girl's  face,  nor  a  wish  for  rank  and  riches,  only 
the  legend  of  the  lost  wealth  disturbed  him.  For 
to  others  it  was  a  legend,  but  to  him  it  was  truth, 
which  danced  before  his  eyes  like  a  Jack-o'- 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


lantern;  he  could  neither  grasp  it  nor  leave  it 
alone ;  yet  there  it  was  by  day  and  by  night,  and 
he  heard  in  his  dreams  a  voice  saying :  "  You  are 
a  millionaire!" 

When  he  wrote  out  miserable  little  bills  for  ten 
or  fifteen  florins,  these  words  seemed  to  dance 
before  him  on  the  paper : 

"  Lay  down  your  pen,  Gyuri  Wibra,  you  have 
treasures  enough  already,  heaven  only  knows 
how  much.  Your  father  saved  it  up  for  you, 
so  you  have  a  right  to  it.  You  are  a  rich  man, 
Gyuri,  and  not  a  poor  lawyer.  Throw  away  those 
deeds  and  look  for  your  treasure.  Where  are 
you  to  look  for  it?  Why,  that  is  just  the  ques- 
tion that  drives  one  mad.  Perhaps  sometimes, 
when  you  are  tired  out,  and  throw  yourself  down 
on  the  ground  to  rest,  it  may  be  just  beneath 
you,  it  is,  perhaps,  just  beginning  to  get  warm 
under  your  hand  when  you  take  it  away  to  do 
something  else,  and  it  may  be  you  will  never  find 
it  at  all.  And  what  a  life  you  could  lead,  what 
a  lot  you  could  do  with  the  money.  You  could 
drive  a  four-in-hand,  drink  champagne,  keep  a 
lot  of  servants.  A  new  world,  a  new  life  would 
be  open  to  you.  And  to  possess  all  this  you  only 
need  a  little  luck ;  but  as  you  have  none  at  present, 
take  up  your  pen  again,  my  friend,  and  go  on 
writing  out  deeds  and  bills,  and  squeezing  a  few 
florins  out  of  the  poor  Slovaks." 

126 


The  Umbrella  Again 


It  was  a  great  pity  he  had  heard  anything  about 
the  missing  treasure.  He  felt  it  himself,  and  often 
said  he  wished  he  knew  nothing  about  it,  and 
would  be  very  glad  if  something  were  to  happen 
which  would  go  to  prove  that  the  treasure  did 
not  really  exist;  for  instance,  if  some  one  would 
remark : 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  met  old  Gregorics  once  in  Monte 
Carlo;  he  was  losing  his  money  as  fast  as  he 
could." 

But  no  such  thing  happened;  on  the  contrary, 
new  witnesses  were  always  turning  up  to  assure 
him :  "  Old  Gregorics  must  certainly  have  left  an 
immense  fortune,  which  he  intended  you  to  have. 
Don't  you  really  know  anything  about  it?" 

No,  he  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it,  but  his 
thoughts  were  always  running  on  the  subject, 
spoiling  all  his  pleasure  in  life.  The  promising 
youth  had  really  become  only  half  a  man,  for  he 
had  two  separate  and  distinct  persons  in  him. 
Sometimes  he  entirely  gave  himself  up  to  the  idea 
that  he  was  the  child  of  a  servant,  and  began  to 
feel  he  had  attained  to  a  really  good  position  by 
means  of  his  own  work,  and  was  happy  and  con- 
tented in  this  thought.  But  only  a  word  was 
needed  to  make  the  lawyer  a  totally  different  man. 
He  was  now  the  son  of  rich  old  Pal  Gregorics, 
waiting  to  find  and  take  possession  of  his  prop- 
erty. And  from  time  to  time  he  suffered  all  the 

127 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


pangs  of  Tantalus,  and  left  his  office  to  look  after 
itself  for  weeks  at  a  time,  while  he  went  to  Vienna 
to  look  up  some  of  his  father's  old  acquaintances. 

The  rich  carriage-builder,  who  had  bought 
Gregorics's  house  in  Vienna,  gave  him  valuable 
information. 

"  Your  father,"  he  said,  "  once  told  me  when 
I  paid  him  for  the  house,  that  he  should  put  the 
money  in  some  bank,  and  asked  me  which  would 
be  the  best  and  safest  way  to  set  to  work  about  it." 

Gyuri  wandered  then  from  one  bank  to  another, 
but  without  success.  Thoroughly  worn  out  he 
returned  to  Besztercebanya  with  the  full  intention 
of  not  thinking  any  more  about  the  subject. 

"  I  am  not  going  on  making  a  fool  of  myself," 
he  said.  "  I  won't  let  the  Golden  Calf  go  on 
lowing  in  my  ears  forever.  I  will  not  take  another 
step  in  the  affair,  and  shall  imagine  I  dreamed 
it  all." 

But  it  was  easier  said  than  done.  You  can 
throw  ashes  on  a  smouldering  fire — it  will  put 
it  out,  but  not  prevent  it  smoking. 

Sometimes  one  friend  referred  to  it,  sometimes 
another.  His  mother,  who  now  walked  on 
crutches,  often  spoke  of  the  good  old  times,  sitting 
in  her  arm-chair  by  the  fire.  And  at  length  she 
owned  that  old  Gregorics  had  wanted  to  tele- 
graph for  Gyuri  on  his  deathbed. 

"  He  seemed  as  though  he  could  not  die  till  he 

128 


had  seen  you,"  she  said.     "  But  it  was  my  fault 
you  came  too  late." 

"  And  why  did  he  so  much  want  to  see  me?" 
"  He  said  he  wanted  to  give  you  something." 
A  light  broke  in  upon  Gyuri's  brain.  The 
Vienna  carriage-builder  had  given  him  to  under- 
stand that  his  father's  fortune  was  represented 
by  a  receipt  for  money  placed  in  a  bank,  and  from 
the  information  his  mother  now  gave  him,  he 
concluded  that  the  old  gentleman  had  intended 
giving  him  the  receipt  before  his  death.  So  he 
must  always  have  kept  it  by  him.  But  what  had 
become  of  it  ?  In  which  bank  was  the  money  de- 
posited? Could  he,  knowing  what  he  did,  give 
up  the  idea  of  finding  it? 

No,  no,  it  was  impossible !  It  could  not  be  lost ! 
Why,  a  grain  of  wheat,  if  dropped  in  a  ditch, 
would  reappear  in  time,  however  unexpectedly. 
And  in  a  case  of  this  kind,  a  chance  word,  a  sign, 
could  clear  up  every  doubt. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  One  day,  the  dying 
mayor  of  the  town,  Tamas  Krikovszky,  sent  for 
him  to  make  his  will.  Several  people,  holding 
high  positions  in  the  town,  were  assembled  in  the 
room.  There  lay  the  mayor,  pale  and  weak,  but 
he  still  seemed  to  retain  some  of  the  majesty  of 
his  office,  in  the  manner  in  which  he  took  leave 
of  his  inferiors  in  office,  recommending  the  wel- 
fare of  the  town  to  them,  and  then  taking  from 

129 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


under  his  pillow  the  official  seal,  he  put  it  into 
their  hands,  saying : 

"  For  twenty  years  I  have  sealed  the  truth 
with  it!" 

Then  he  dictated  his  will  to  Gyuri,  and  while 
doing  so,  referred  now  and  then  to  various  inci- 
dents in  his  life. 

"  Dear  me,  what  times  those  were,"  he  said 
once,  addressing  himself  to  Gyuri.  "  Your  father 
had  a  red  umbrella,  with  a  hollow  handle,  in 
which  he  used  to  carry  valuable  papers  from  one 
camp  to  another,  in  the  days  when  he  was  a  spy." 

"  What !"  stammered  Gyuri.  "  The  red  um- 
brella ?"  and  his  eyes  shone. 

Like  a  flash  of  lightning  a  thought  had  entered 
his  head.  The  receipt  was  in  that  umbrella !  His 
blood  began  to  course  madly  in  his  veins,  as  the 
certitude  of  the  truth  of  his  suspicion  grew  upon 
him.  Yes,  there  it  was,  he  was  sure  of  it ;  and  all 
at  once  he  remembered  the  incident  in  Szeged, 
how  Gregorics  had  let  his  umbrella  fall  in  the 
water,  his  anxiety,  and  offer  of  a  large  reward 
for  its  discovery.  Then  again,  the  old  gentleman's 
words  rang  in  his  ear : 

"  The  umbrella  will  once  belong  to  you,  and 
you  will  find  it  useful  to  protect  you  from  the 
rain." 

The  bystanders  could  not  imagine  why  Gyuri 
seemed  so  much  put  about  at  the  mayor's  death; 

130 


The  Umbrella  Again 


in  their  opinion  it  was  quite  right  of  the  old  man 
to  take  his  departure,  he  had  dragged  on  with 
his  gouty  old  leg  quite  long  enough,  and  should 
now  make  room  for  younger  men;  he  had  not 
lived  his  life  for  nothing,  for  were  they  not  going 
to  have  his  portrait  painted  and  hung  in  the  Town 
Hall,  a  grand  ending  to  his  life?  If  he  lived  for 
ten  years  longer  he  could  have  no  greater  honor 
done  him,  and  his  portrait  would  be  even  uglier 
than  now. 

They  were  even  more  surprised  at  the  strange 
question  which  Gyuri,  in  spite  of  the  solemnity  of 
the  occasion,  put  to  the  dying  man. 
"  And  was  the  hole  big,  sir  ?" 
"  What  hole  ?"  asked  the  mayor,  who  had  al- 
ready forgotten  the  subject. 

"  The  hole  in  the  handle  of  the  umbrella." 
"  I  really  don't  know,  I  never  asked  Gregorics." 
He  closed  his  eyes,  and  in  a  weak  voice  added, 
with  that  phlegma  which  only  a  Hungarian  dis- 
plays on  his  deathbed : 

"  But  if  you  wait  a  bit,  I'll  ask  him." 
And  he  probably  kept  his  promise,  for  half  an 
hour  later  a  black  flag  was  flying  from  the  roof 
of  the  Town  Hall,  and  the  bell  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  church  was  tolling. 

Gyuri  Wibra  had  hurried  home,  nervous  and 
excited,  and  was  now  marching  up  and  down  his 
office,  his  heart  beating  wildly  with  joy. 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  I  have  the  treasure  at  last !"  he  kept  on  repeat- 
ing to  himself,  "  at  least,  I  should  have  it  if  I  had 
the  umbrella.  But  where  is  it  ?"  He  could  neither 
eat,  nor  drink,  nor  sleep  till  he  had  settled  it.  He 
questioned  his  mother  on  the  subject,  and  she  did 
her  best  to  answer  him,  but  could  only  repeat : 

"  How  am  I  to  remember  that,  my  dear  boy, 
after  so  long  a  time?  And  what  do  you  want 
that  ragged  umbrella  for?" 

Gyuri  sighed. 

"  If  I  have  to  dig  it  out  of  the  ground  with 
my  ten  fingers,  I  will  do  it." 

"  Perhaps  Matyko  will  remember  something 
about  it?" 

Matyko  was  soon  found;  he  sat  smoking  his 
pipe  in  the  anteroom  of  the  office,  for  he  was  now 
Gyuri's  servant.  But  he  also  said  he  had  forgotten 
far  more  important  things  than  that  in  all  these 
years;  but  this  much  he  did  remember,  that  the 
dead  man  had  kept  the  umbrella  near  him  till  the 
hour  of  his  death. 

"  Heaven  only  knows,"  he  added,  "  why  he 
took  such  care  of  the  ragged  old  thing." 

(Not  only  heaven  knew  the  reason  now,  but 
Gyuri  too!) 

.He  got  more  information  from  the  old  woman 
who  kept  the  grocer's  shop  in  old  Gregorics's 
house;  she  had  been  in  the  house  when  he  died, 
and  had  helped  to  lay  him  out.  She  swore  by 

132 


The  Umbrella  Again 


heaven  and  earth  that  the  umbrella  had  been 
tightly  clutched  in  the  dead  man's  hand,  and  they 
had  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  freeing  it  from 
his  grasp. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  the  umbrella 
was  certainly  in  his  hand,  may  I  never  move  from 
this  spot  if  it  is  not  true." 

"  It  is  all  the  same,"  muttered  Gyuri ;  "  we  want 
to  know  where  it  is  now." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  sold  with  the  rest  of  the 
things." 

That  seemed  very  likely,  so  Gyuri  went  and 
looked  up  the  list  of  things  that  had  been  sold  at 
the  auction.  All  sorts  of  things  were  mentioned 
— tables,  chairs,  cupboards,  coats,  etc. — but  there 
was  no  mention  of  an  umbrella.  He  read  it  over 
ten  times,  but  it  was  of  no  use,  he  could  find  no 
mention  of  it,  unless  the  following  could  be  con- 
sidered as  such. 

"  Various  useless  objects,  bought  for  two 
florins  by  the  white  Jew." 

Perhaps  the  umbrella  was  one  of  those  useless 
objects,  and  had  been  bought  by  the  "  white  Jew." 
Well;  the  first  thing  was  to  find  the  "  white  Jew." 
But  who  was  he?  For  in  those  good  old  days 
there  were  not  as  many  Jews  in  Hungary  as  there 
are  now;  there  were  perhaps  one  or  two  in  the 
town,  so  it  was  easy  to  find  them;  for  one  was 
called  "  red,"  another  "  gray,"  another  "  white," 

133 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


a  fourth  "  black,"  according  to  the  color  of  their 
hair ;  and  by  means  of  these  four  colors  the  towns- 
folk were  able  to  distinguish  any  Jew  who  lived 
in  their  town.  But  now  there  were  some  hundred 
Jewish  families,  and  heaven  had  not  increased  the 
shades  of  their  hair  to  such  an  extent  that  each 
family  could  be  distinguished  in  the  old  way. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find  out  about  the  old 
Jew,  and  Gyuri  soon  knew  that  he  was  called 
Jonas  Miincz,  and  it  was  very  likely  he  had 
bought  the  things,  for  all  the  coats  and  vests 
found  their  way  into  his  tiny  shop  in  Wheat 
Street,  before  starting  on  the  second  chapter  of 
their  existence. 

Many  people  remember  the  little  shop  in  which 
top-boots,  cloaks,  and  dresses  hung  on  nails,  and 
the  following  announcement  was  written  with 
chalk  on  the  door : 

"  Only  the  lilies  of  the  field  can  dress  them- 
selves cheaper  than  you  can  in  this  shop !" 

(That  was  quite  true,  only  with  this  difference, 
that  the  lilies  of  the  field  were  more  becomingly 
dressed  than  Miincz's  customers.) 

In  spite  of  all  this  information  Gyuri  was  by 
no  means  satisfied,  so  he  walked  across  the  road 
to  his  old  guardian's  to  see  if  he  could  find  out 
anything  more  on  the  subject  from  him,  for  he 
had  been  the  first  lawyer  in  the  town  for  many 
years,  and  must  know  every  one. 


The  Umbrella  Again 


The  young  man  told  Sztolarik  the  whole  story, 
openly  and  frankly,  adding  that  the  receipt  for 
the  money,  which  was  probably  deposited  in  some 
foreign  bank,  was  all  but  found,  for  it  was  most 
certainly  in  the  handle  of  the  red  umbrella,  and 
that  had  in  all  probability  been  bought  by  an  old 
Jew  of  the  name  of  Jonas  Miincz.  All  of  this 
Gyuri  poured  out  quickly  and  breathlessly  into 
the  ears  of  his  old  guardian. 

"  That  much  I  know.  Now,  what  am  I  to  do 
next?" 

"It  is  a  great  deal,  much  more  than  I  ever 
hoped  for.  You  must  continue  the  search." 

"But  where  am  I  to  search?  We  don't  yet 
know  where  Miincz  is,  and  even  if  we  had  him, 
who  knows  on  which  dust-heap  the  umbrella  has 
rotted  since  then?" 

"  All  the  same,  you  must  not  lose  the  thread." 

"  Did  you  know  the  '  white  Jew'  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  was  a  very  honest  Jew,  that  is 
why  he  never  got  very  rich.  He  often  came  to 
me ;  I  can  see  him  now,  with  his  head  bald  at  the 
back,  and  a  fringe  of  white  hair  round  it.  'Pon 
my  word!  (and  here  the  lawyer  skipped  like  a 
young  lamb)  the  last  time  I  saw  him  he  had  Pal 
Gregorics's  umbrella  in  his  hand ;  I  can  swear  to 
it,  and  I  remember  I  joked  him  about  it.  '  It 
seems  to  me,  Jonas,'  I  said,  '  that  you  wander 
about  the  next  world,  too,  to  buy  "  ole  clo',"  and 

135 


St.   Peter's   Umbrella 


bought  that  umbrella  there  of  Pal  Gregorics.'  At 
which  he  smiled,  and  said  he  had  not  gone  as  far 
as  that  yet,  for  he  only  kept  to  the  two  counties 
of  Zolyom  and  Hont,  and  had  divided  the  neigh- 
boring counties  among  his  sons;  Moricz  had 
Trencsin  and  Nyitra,  Szami  had  Szepes  and  Lipto, 
and  the  youngest,  Kobi,  had  only  last  week  been 
given  Bars,  but  they  none  of  them  intended  to 
go  into  the  next  world  until  they  were  obliged  to." 

Gyuri's  eyes  shone  with  delight. 

"  Bravo,  Sztolarik !"  he  exclaimed,  "  only  the 
gods  had  such  memories  as  you  have." 

"  You  are  a  lucky  fellow,  Gyuri.  I  have  an 
impression  we  are  on  the  right  track  at  last,  and 
that  you  will  find  the  money." 

"  I  begin  to  think  so  too,"  answered  Gyuri,  who 
was  in  turns  optimist  or  pessimist,  as  the  occasion 
presented  itself. 

"  But  what  can  have  become  of  old  Miincz?" 

"  We  Christians  have  a  legend  about  the  Jews 
which  says,  that  on  the  Long  Day  every  year  a 
Jew  disappears  from  the  earth  and  is  never  seen 
again.  Old  Jonas  disappeared  thus  fourteen  years 
ago  (you  may  be  sure  none  of  the  Rothschilds 
will  disappear  in  that  way).  His  wife  and  chil- 
dren waited  for  him  in  vain,  Jonas  never  returned. 
So  his  sons  set  out  to  look  for  him,  and  it  turned 
out  the  old  fellow  had  got  soft-headed,  and  had 
taken  to  wandering  about  in  the  Slovak  villages, 

136 


The  Umbrella  Again 


where  the  sons  now  and  then  heard  of  him  from 
people  who  had  seen  him ;  and  then  one  day,  they 
found  his  dead  body  in  the  Garam." 

The  young  lawyer's  face  was  clouded  again. 

"  Why,  in  that  case  the  umbrella  will  be  in  the 
Garam  too,  probably." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  was  the  answer.  "  He  may 
have  left  it  at  home,  and  if  so,  it  will  still  be 
among  the  old  rags  and  bones  of  the  Miincz's,  for 
I  am  sure  no  one  would  ever  buy  it.  Try  your 
luck,  my  boy!  If  I  were  you  I  would  get  into 
a  carriage,  and  drive  and  drive  until  .  .  ." 

"  But  where  am  I  to  drive  to  ?" 

"  Yes,  of  course,  of  course." 

Then,  after  a  minute's  thought : 

"  Miincz's  sons  have  gone  out  into  the  world, 
and  the  boxes  of  matches  with  which  they  started 
have  probably  become  houses  since  then.  But  I'll 
tell  you  what ;  go  to  Babaszek,  their  mother  lives 
there." 

"  Whereabouts  is  Babaszek  ?" 

"  Quite  near  to  Zolyom,  among  the  mountains. 
There  is  a  saying  that  all  the  sheep  there  were 
frozen  to  death  once,  in  the  dog-days." 

"  And  are  you  sure  Mrs.  Miincz  lives  there  ?" 

"  Quite  sure.  A  few  years  ago  they  came  and 
fetched  her  away  to  be  the  'Jewess  of  Babaszek.' ' 


CHAPTER  II. 

OUR   ROSALIA. 

YES,  they  had  taken  old  Mrs.  Mtincz  to  Babas- 
zek to  be  their  "  Jew,"  with  forty  florins  salary, 
for  they  had  no  Jew  there,  and  had  to  find  one 
at  any  cost. 

This  is  how  it  came  to  pass  (and  it  is  difficult 
for  an  inhabitant  of  Budapest  to  understand  it). 
Babaszek  was  one  of  those  small  towns  which 
in  reality  was  only  a  larger  village,  though  it 
rejoiced  in  what  it  called  its  "  mayor,"  and  on 
one  day  in  the  year  a  few  miserable  horses,  cows, 
and  pigs  were  driven  in  from  the  neighboring 
farms  and  villages,  and  the  baker  from  Zolyom 
put  up  a  tent,  in  which  he  sold  gingerbread  in 
the  shape  of  hearts,  of  soldiers,  of  cradles,  all  of 
which  was  soon  bought  up  by  the  young  men  and 
fathers  of  families  and  taken  home  to  sweethearts 
or  children,  as  the  case  might  be.  In  one  word, 
there  was  a  fair  at  Babaszek.  And  for  centuries 
every  inhabitant  has  divided  the  year  and  its 
events  into  two  parts,  one  before  the  fair,  and 

138 


Our  Rosalia 

one  after  it.  For  instance,  the  death  of  Francis 
Deak  took  place  just  two  days  after  the  fair  at 
Babaszek.  And  the  reason  of  all  this  was,  that 
the  old  kings  of  Hungary  who  lived  during  the 
hunting  season  in  the  castles  of  Zolyom  and 
Vegles,  instead  of  making  grants  to  the  inhabi- 
tants, raised  the  villages  to  the  position  of  towns. 

Well,  of  course,  it  was  a  privilege,  for  in  a  town 
everything  seems  grander  than  in  a  village,  and 
is  worth  a  good  deal  more,  even  man  himself. 
The  little  straw-thatched  house  in  which  questions 
of  moment  are  discussed  is  called  the  Town  Hall, 
and  the  "  hajdu"  (town-servant)  must  know  how 
to  beat  a  drum  (for  the  town  has  a  drum  of  its 
own),  the  richer  ones  even  have  a  small  fire- 
engine.  After  all,  position  is  position,  and  one 
must  do  all  one  can  to  keep  it  up.  Zolyom  and 
Tot-Pelsoc  were  rivals. 

"  That's  not  a  town,"  said  the  latter  of  the 
former ;  "  why,  they  have  not  even  a  chemist 
there!"  (Well,  after  all,  not  every  village  or 
town  can  be  as  big  as  Besztercebanya  or  London !) 

Pelsoc  could  not  even  leave  poor  little  Babaszek 
alone. 

"  That  is  no  town,"  they  said.  "  There  is  not 
even  a  single  Jew  there.  If  no  Jew  settle  in  a 
town,  it  cannot  be  considered  as  such;  it  has,  in 
fact,  no  future." 

But  it  is  not  my  intention  now  to  write  about 

139 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


the  quarrels  of  two  small  towns,  I  only  want  to 
tell  you  how  Mrs.  Miincz  came  to  live  in  Babaszek. 
'  Well,  they  sent  word  to  her  in  Besztercebanya, 
to  come  and  take  possession  of  the  little  shop  just 
opposite  the  market-place  near  the  smithy,  the 
best  position  in  the  town.  On  either  side  of  the 
door  was  written  in  colored  letters :  "  Soap,  whips, 
starch,  scrubbing-brushes,  nails,  salt,  grease,  saf- 
fron, cinnamon,  linseed  oil ;"  in  fact,  the  names  of 
all  those  articles  which  did  not  grow  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, or  were  not  manufactured  there.  So 
that  is  how  Mrs.  Miincz  came  to  live  in  Babaszek, 
where  she  was  received  with  great  honors,  and 
made  as  comfortable  as  possible.  It  is  a  wonder 
they  did  not  bring  her  into  the  town  in  triumph 
on  their  shoulders,  which  would  have  been  no 
joke,  for  she  weighed  at  least  two  hundredweight. 

Some  of  the  townsfolk  were  very  discontented 
that  the  mayor  had  only  brought  a  Jewess  into 
the  town,  and  not  a  Jew,  for  it  would  sound 
grander  if  they  could  say :  "  Our  Jew  says  this, 
or  our  Moricz  or  Tobias  did  that,"  than  if  they 
had  said :  "  Our  Rosalia  says  this,  that,  or  the 
other ;"  it  sounds  so  very  mild.  They  would  have 
liked  a  Jew  with  a  long  beard,  and  hooked  nose, 
and  red  hair  if  possible;  that  was  the  correct 
thing ! 

But  Mr.  Konopka,  the  cleverest  senator  in  the 
town,  who  had  made  the  contract  with  Mrs. 

140 


Our  Rosalia 

Muncz,  and  who  had  even  gone  himself  to  fetch 
her  and  her  luggage  from  Besztercebanya  with 
two  large  carts,  the  horses  of  which  had  flowers 
and  rosettes  on,  coldly  repudiated  these  aspersions 
on  their  Jewess,  with  an  argument  which  struck 
as  heavily  as  the  stones  in  David's  sling. 

"  Don't  be  so  foolish,"  he  said.  "  If  a  woman 
was  once  king  in  Hungary,  why  should  not  a 
Jewess  fill  the  place  of  Jew  in  Babaszek?" 

(This  was  a  reference  to  the  words  of  the 
nation  addressed  to  Maria  Theresa :  "  We  will 
fight  for  our  *  king'  and  our  country.") 

Of  course  they  soon  saw  the  truth  of  this,  and 
ceased  grumbling;  and  they  were  in  time  quite 
reconciled  to  their  Jewess,  for  every  year,  on  the 
Feast  of  Tents,  all  Mrs.  Miincz's  sons,  seven  in 
number,  came  to  see  their  mother,  and  walked 
about  the  market-place  in  their  best  clothes,  laced 
boots,  and  top-hats.  The  townsfolk  were  glad 
enough  then,  their  hearts  swelled  with  pride  as 
they  gazed  at  the  seven  Jews,  and  they  would 
exclaim : 

"  Well,  if  this  is  not  a  town,  what  is  ?" 

"  You  won't  see  as  many  Jews  as  that  in  Pelsoc 
in  ten  years,"  answered  another  proudly. 

Old  Mrs.  Miincz  feasted  her  eyes  on  her  sons 
when  she  sat,  as  she  usually  did,  in  the  doorway  of 
her  shop,  her  knitting  in  her  hands,  her  spectacles 
on  her  nose  (those  spectacles  lent  her  an  additional 

141 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


charm  in  the  eyes  of  her  admirers).  She  was 
a  pleasant-looking  old  woman  in  her  snow-white 
frilled  cap,  and  seemed  to  suit  her  surroundings, 
the  whitewashed  walls  of  the  neighboring  houses, 
the  important-looking  Town  Hall,  and  no  one 
could  pass  her  without  raising  their  hat,  just  as 
they  did  before  the  statue  of  St.  John  Nepomuk. 
(Those  were  the  only  two  things  worth  seeing 
in  Babaszek.) 

Every  one  felt  that  the  little  old  woman  would 
have  her  share  in  the  success  of  the  town. 

"  Good-morning,    young   woman.      How    are 
you?" 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,  my  child." 
"  How  is  business,  young  woman  ?" 
"  Thank  you,  my  child,  I  get  on  very  well." 
They  were  all  glad,  oh,  so  glad,  that  the  "young 
woman"  was  so  healthy  and  strong,  and  that  she 
got  richer  day  by  day;  they  boasted  of  it  where- 
ever  they  went. 

"  Our  Rosalia  is  getting  on  well.  It  is  easy  to 
get  on  in  Babaszek,  we  are  good-natured  people." 
They  really  made  things  very  comfortable  for 
Rosalia.  She  was  over  seventy,  but  they  still 
called  her  "  mlada  pani"  (young  woman).  As 
the  king  reserves  to  himself  the  right  of  confer- 
ring various  titles,  so  the  people  have  adopted  the 
plan  of  conferring  the  "  title  of  youth,"  and  make 
use  of  it  when  and  where  they  like. 

142 


Our  Rosalia 

Well,  as  I  said  before,  they  took  great  care  of 
Rosalia,  and  when,  a  few  years  after  her  arrival 
there,  she  decided  to  build  a  stone  house,  every 
one  who  owned  a  cart  placed  it  at  her  disposal, 
for  the  carting  of  stones,  sand,  wood,  etc. ;  the 
bricklayers  gave  a  day's  work  without  wages; 
only  one  or  two  of  the  lazier  ones  did  not  join 
the  rest  on  that  day,  but  were  sent  to  Coventry 
for  it. 

"  Good-for-nothing  fellows,"  said  every  one, 
"  they  have  no  respect  for  any  one,  neither  for 
God,  the  priest,  nor  a  Jew!" 

Their  respect  went  so  far  as  to  make  them  (at 
the  mayor's  instigation)  set  apart  two  pieces  of 
ground,  one  for  a  (future)  synagogue,  and  one 
for  a  Jewish  burial-ground  (for  the  one  Jewess 
they  had  in  the  town) .  But  what  did  that  matter  ? 
They  had  the  future  before  them,  and  who  could 
tell  what  it  held  for  them?  And  it  was  so  nice 
to  be  able  to  say.  to  strangers :  "  Just  a  stone's 
throw  from  the  Jewish  burial-ground,"  or  "  near 
to  the  foundation  of  the  Synagogue,"  etc.  And 
the  inhabitants  of  the  villages  round  about  would 
say  when  the  good  folks  turned  their  backs: 
"  Poor  things !  Their  brains  have  been  turned 
with  the  joy  of  having  a  Jew  in  their  town!" 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  TRACES  LEAD  TO  GLOGOVA. 

ONE  fine  spring  afternoon,  a  light  sort  of  dog- 
cart stopped  before  Mrs.  Miincz's  shop,  and  a 
young  man  sprang  out  of  it,  Gyuri  Wibra,  of 
course. 

Rosalia,  who  was  just  standing  at  her  door, 
speaking  to  Mr.  Mravucsan,  the  mayor,  and  Mr. 
Galba,  one  of  the  senators,  immediately  turned 
to  the  young  man  with  the  question : 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?" 

"  Are  you  Mrs.  Muncz  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  want  to  buy  an  umbrella." 

The  two  gentlemen,  surprised,  looked  up  at  the 
cloudless  sky. 

"  What  the  devil  does  he  want  to  buy  an  um- 
brella for?"  muttered  Mravucsan. 

Then  added  aloud: 

"  Where  are  you  from,  sir  ?" 

"  From  Besztercebanya." 

Mravucsan  was  even  more  surprised. 

144 


The  Traces  Lead  to  Glogova 

Fancy  any  one  coming  all  the  way  from  Besz- 
tercebanya  to  Babaszek  to  buy  an  umbrella !  How 
proud  he  was  it  had  happened  under  his  mayor- 
ship!  He  nudged  Galba: 

"  Do  you  hear?"  he  said. 

"  This  is  only  a  small  village  shop,  sir," 
answered  Rosalia.  "  We  don't  keep  umbrellas." 

"  Pity  enough !"  muttered  Mravucsan,  biting 
savagely  at  his  mustache. 

"  But  I  heard,"  went  on  the  stranger,  "  that 
you  had  second-hand  umbrellas  to  sell." 

Second-hand  umbrellas !    Well,  what  next ! 

Mravucsan,  who  was  asthmatic,  began  to 
breathe  heavily,  and  was  just  going  to  say  some- 
thing disparaging  to  the  stranger,  when  some 
runaway  horses  attracted  his  attention,  as  they 
rushed  across  the  market-place,  dragging  a  hand- 
some phaeton  with  them. 

"  That  will  never  be  fit  for  use  again,"  said 
the  smith,  as  he  stood  looking  on,  his  hands  folded 
under  his  leather  apron. 

The  phaeton  had  probably  been  dashed  against 
a  wall,  for  the  left  side  was  smashed  to  bits,  the 
shaft  was  broken,  one  of  the  wheels  had  been  left 
somewhere  on  the  road,  and  the  reins  were  drag- 
ging on  the  ground  between  the  two  horses. 

"  They  are  beautiful  animals,"  said  Galba. 

"  They  belong  to  the  priest  of  Glogova," 
answered  Mravucsan.  "  I'm  afraid  some  one 

145 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


may  have  been  thrown  out  of  the  carriage ;  let  us 
go  and  see." 

During  this  time  the  number  of  customers  in 
Mrs.  Miincz's  shop  had  increased,  and  as  they  had 
to  be  attended  to,  she  first  turned  to  the  stranger 
before  serving  them,  and  said : 

"  There  are  a  lot  of  old  umbrellas  somewhere 
on  the  loft,  but  they  would  not  do  for  a  fine 
gentleman  like  you." 

"  I  should  like  to  look  at  them  all  the 
same."  •• 

Mrs.  Miincz  had  her  hand  on  the  door  to  let  her 
customers  in,  and  only  answered  without  turning 
round : 

"  I  can  assure  you  you  would  not  take  them  in 
your,  hand." 

.  Butfohe  young  man  was  not  to  be  put  off  so 
easily;  jhe  followed  her  into  the  shop,  and  waited 
till  the  customers  were  all  served,  then  re- 
marked again  that  he  would  like  to  see  the  um- 
brellas. 

"  But,  my  good  sir,  don't  bother  me  about  the 
umbrellas.  I  tell  you  they  would  be  of  no  use 
to  you.  They  are  some  that  were  left  from  the 
time  of  my  poor  husband ;  he  knew  how  to  mend 
umbrellas,  and  most  of  these  are  broken  and  torn, 
and  they  certainly  will  not  have  improved,  lying 
on  the  dusty  loft  so  long.  Besides,  I  cannot  show 
you  them,  for  my  son  is  at  the  fair,  the  servant 

146 


The  Traces  Lead  to  Glogova 

has  a  bad  foot  and  cannot  move,  and  when  there 
is  a  fair  my  shop  is  always  full,  so  I  cannot  leave 
it  to  go  with  you." 

The  young  lawyer  took  a  five-florin  note  out 
of  his  pocket. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  do  it  for  nothing,  Mrs. 
Miincz,  but  I  must  see  the  umbrellas  at  any  price. 
So  let  me  go  up  alone  to  the  loft,  and  please  take 
this  in  return  for  your  kindness." 

Mrs.  Miincz  did  not  take  the  money,  and  her 
small  black  eyes  examined  the  young  man  sus- 
piciously. 

"  Now  I  shall  certainly  not  show  you  the 
umbrellas." 

"And  why  not?" 

"  My  poor  dead  husband  used  to  say :  *  Rosalia, 
never  do  anything  you  don't  understand  the 
reason  of,'  and  my  husband  was  a  very  clever 
man." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  you  are  quite  right,  and 
can't  understand  why  I  offer  five  florins  for  an 
old  ragged  umbrella." 

"  Just  so ;  for  five  florins  you  might  see  some- 
thing better." 

"  Well,  it  is  very  simple  after  all.  My  father 
had  a  very  old  umbrella,  to  which  he  was  much 
attached,  and  I  heard  that  it  had  come  by  chance 
into  your  husband's  hands,  and  I  should  very 
much  like  to  have  it  as  a  souvenir." 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  And  who  was  your  father,  sir  ?  Perhaps  I 
may  have  heard  of  him." 

The  lawyer  blushed  a  little. 

"  Pal  Gregorics,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  Gregorics !  Wait  a  bit !  Yes,  I  remem- 
ber, the  funny  little  man  in  whose  will  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  yes.  He  left  2000  florins  to  nine  ladies 
in  Besztercebanya." 

"  I  remember,  but  I  don't  think  he  was   .   .   ." 

"  Yes  ...  no  ...  of  course  not  ...  I 
mean  .  .  ."  and  here  he  stopped  in  confusion. 
"  I  am  Gyuri  Wibra,  lawyer." 

Now  it  was  Mrs.  Miincz's  turn  to  be  confused. 

"  Of  course,  sir,  I  understand.  How  stupid 
of  me!  I  have  heard  of  you,  sir,  and  I  knew 
your  poor  father;  dear  me,  how  very  like  him 
you  are,  and  yet  so  handsome.  I  knew  him  very 
well,"  she  added,  smiling,  "  though  he  did  not 
leave  me  2000  florins.  I  was  an  old  woman  when 
he  was  still  young.  Well,  sir,  please  go  up  and 
look  at  the  umbrellas.  I  will  show  you  the  way, 
and  tell  you  just  where  to  look  for  them.  Follow 
me,  please,  and  I  hope  you  will  find  the  old  gentle- 
man's umbrella." 

"  I  would  give  you  fifty  florins  for  it,  Mrs. 
Miincz." 

At  the  words  "  fifty  florins"  the  old  woman's 
eyes  shone  like  two  glowworms. 

"  Oh !  what  a  good  son !"  she  sighed,  turning 

148 


The  Traces  Lead  to  Glogova 

her  eyes  up  to  heaven.  "  There  is  nothing  more 
pleasing  to  God  than  a  good  son,  who  honors  the 
memory  of  his  father." 

She  got  quite  active  and  lively  at  the  thought 
of  the  fifty  florins,  and  shutting  the  door  of  the 
shop,  she  tripped  across  the  yard  with  Gyuri  to 
the  ladder  of  the  loft,  and  even  wanted  to  go  up 
with  him  herself. 

"  No,  no,  stay  down  below,  Mrs.  Miincz. 
What  would  the  world  say,  if  we  two  were  to  go 
up  to  the  loft  together?"  said  Gyuri  jokingly. 

Old  Rosalia  chuckled. 

"  Oh,  dear  heart  alive !"  she  said,  "  there's  no 
danger  with  me.  Why,  your  father  didn't  even 
remember  me  in  his  will,  though  once  upon  a  time 
.  .  .  (and  here  she  complacently  smoothed  her 
gray  hair).  Well,  my  dear,  please  go  up." 

Gyuri  Wibra  searched  about  among  the  rubbish 
on  the  loft  for  quite  half  an  hour,  during  which 
time  the  old  woman  came  twice  to  the  foot  of  the 
ladder  to  see  if  he  were  coming  down.  She  was 
anxious  about  the  fifty  florins. 

"  Well  ?"  she  asked,  as  he  appeared  at  last 
empty-handed. 

"  I  have  looked  through  everything,"  he  said, 
in  a  discouraged  tone,  "  but  the  umbrella  I  want 
is  not  among  the  others." 

The  old  Jewess  looked  disappointed. 

"  What  can  that  tiresome  Jonas  have  done  with 

149 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


it?"  she  exclaimed.  "Fifty  florins!  Dreadful! 
But  he  never  had  a  reason  for  anything  he  did." 

"  In  all  probability  your  husband  used  that 
umbrella  himself.  Mr.  Sztolarik  of  Beszterce- 
banya  says  he  distinctly  remembers  seeing  him 
with  it  once." 

"What  was  it  like?" 

"  The  stuff  was  red,  with  patches  of  all  sorts 
on  it,  and  it  had  a  pale  green  border.  The  stick 
was  of  black  wood,  with  a  bone  handle." 

"  May  I  never  go  to  heaven !"  exclaimed 
Rosalia,  "if  that  was  not  the  very  umbrella  he 
took  with  him  last  time  he  left  home!  Yes,  I 
know  he  took  that  one !" 

"  It  was  a  great  pity  he  took  just  that  one." 

Rosalia  felt  bound  to  defend  her  husband. 

"  How  was  he  to  know  that  ?"  she  said.  "  He 
never  had  a  reason  for  anything  he  did." 

"  Well,  there's  no  help  for  it  now,"  sighed 
Gyuri,  as  he  stood  on  the  last  rung  of  the  ladder, 
wondering  what  he  was  to  do  next,  and  feeling 
like  Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Carthage,  only 
there  were  not  even  ruins  to  his  Carthage;  all 
hopes  had  returned  to  the  clouds  from  which  they 
had  been  taken. 

Slowly  he  walked  through  the  shop  to  his 
dog-cart,  which  was  waiting  outside,  and  the  old 
woman  waddled  after  him,  like  a  fat  goose.  But 
once  out  in  the  street,  she  suddenly  seemed  to 


The  Traces  Lead  to  Glogova 

wake  up,  and  seized  hold  of  the  lawyer's 
coat. 

"  Wait  a  bit.  I  had  nearly  forgotten  it,  but 
my  son  Moricz,  who  is  a  butcher  in  Ipolysag,  was 
here  at  the  time;  he  had  come  to  buy  oxen,  I 
remember.  My  son  Moricz  knows  everything, 
and  may  I  never  go  to  heaven  (Rosalia  evidently 
had  a  strong  objection  to  leaving  this  world)  if 
he  can't  throw  some  light  on  the  subject.  Go  to 
the  fair,  my  dear  boy,  to  the  place  where  the  sheep 
stand,  and  speak  to  the  handsomest  man  you  see 
there,  that  will  be  my  son  Moricz ;  he's  handsome, 
very  handsome,  is  Moricz.  Speak  to  him,  and 
promise  him  the  fifty  florins.  I  am  sure  he  once 
told  me  something  about  that  umbrella.  For  when 
my  poor  dear  Jonas  died,  Moricz  went  to  look  for 
him,  and  when  he  found  traces  of  him,  he  went 
from  village  to  village  making  inquiries,  till 
everything  was  clear.  (Here  Rosalia  gazed  tear- 
fully heavenward.)  Oh,  Jonas,  Jonas,  why  did 
you  treat  us  so  ?  If  your  senses  had  left  you,  why 
must  you  follow  them?  You  had  enough  sons 
who  would  have  taken  care  of  you !" 

She  would  have  gone  on  like  this  all  day,  if 
Gyuri  had  not  stepped  into  his  dog-cart  and 
driven  off  to  the  scene  of  the  fair  as  she  had 
advised  him. 

After  putting  a  few  questions  to  the  bystanders, 
he  found  Moricz  Miincz,  a  short,  stout  man,  his 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


pock-marked  face  looking  like  a  turkey's  egg.  He 
was  as  ugly  as  a  Faun.  His  butcher's  knife  and 
steel  hung  from  a  belt  round  his  waist,  and  on  his 
arm  was  tattooed  the  head  of  an  ox. 

He  was  just  bargaining  for  a  cow,  and  its 
owner,  a  tanner,  was  swearing  by  heaven  and 
earth  that  such  a  cow  had  never  been  seen  in 
Babaszek  before. 

"  It  will  eat  straw,"  he  assured  him,  "  and  yet 
give  fourteen  pints  of  milk  a  day !" 

"  Rubbish !"  answered  Moricz.  "  I'm  not  a 
calf,  and  don't  intend  to  look  upon  this  cow  as 
my  mother.  I'm  a  butcher,  and  want  to  kill  it 
and  weigh  it." 

"  That's  true,"  said  the  honest  tanner ;  and  of 
his  own  free  will  he  lowered  the  price  by  five 
florins. 

Moricz  did  not  seem  to  think  that  enough,  and 
began  poking  at  the  ribs  of  the  cow. 

"  What  bones !"  he  exclaimed,  and  then  pulled 
open  its  mouth  to  look  at  its  teeth.  "  Why,  it  has 
not  got  a  tooth  in  its  head !" 

"  What  do  you  want  it  to  have  teeth  for  ?" 
asked  the  honest  tanner.  "  I  don't  suppose  you 
want  to  weigh  its  teeth  too  ?" 

"But  it  kicks!" 

"  Well,  it  won't  kick  once  it  is  killed ;  and  I 
don't  suppose  you  want  to  weigh  it  before  it  is 
killed?" 

152 


The  Traces  Lead  to  Glogova 

The  honest  tanner  laughed  at  his  own  wit, 
which  had  put  him  into  such  a  good  humor,  that 
he  again  took  five  florins  off  the  price.  But 
Moricz  was  not  yet  satisfied,  for  he  still  gazed 
at  the  cow,  as  though  trying  to  find  more  faults 
in  her.  And  just  at  that  moment  Gyuri  Wibra 
called  out: 

"  Mr.  Miincz,  I  should  like  to  have  a  word  with 
you." 

The  tanner,  fearing  to  lose  his  purchaser,  took 
five  florins  more  off  the  price,  and  Moricz,  being 
a  sensible  man,  at  once  struck  the  bargain;  he 
always  bought  of  an  evening  from  such  as  had 
not  been  able  to  sell  their  cattle  during  the  day, 
and  gave  it  for  a  low  price  to  save  their  having 
to  drive  it  home  again. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?" 

"  I  should  like  to  buy  something  of  you,  which 
belongs  neither  to  you  nor  to  me." 

"  There  are  plenty  of  things  in  the  world 
answering  to  that  description,"  said  Moricz, 
"  and  I  can  assure  you,  I  will  let  you  have  it  as 
cheap  as  possible." 

"  Let  us  move  on  a  bit." 

Gyuri  led  him  out  of  the  crowd  to  the  village 
pump,  near  which  grew  an  elder-tree.  This  tree, 
round  which  they  had  put  some  palings,  was  also 
a  part  of  the  future  greatness  of  Babaszek,  for 
the  green,  evil-smelling  insects  which  housed  in 

153 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


its  branches,  and  which  are  used  in  various  medi- 
cines (Spanish  flies),  induced  them  to  believe  that 
they  might,  once  upon  a  time,  have  a  chemist  in 
Babaszek.  The  young  girls  of  the  town  used  to 
collect  the  insects,  and  sell  them  to  the  chemist 
at  Zolyom  for  a  few  kreutzers ;  but  that  was  for- 
bidden now,  for  the  people  had  decided :  "  Near 
that  tree  there  will  once  be  a  chemist's  shop,  so 
we  will  not  have  the  insects  taken  away." 

They  evidently  considered  them  the  foundation 
of  the  future  chemist's  store. 

Gyuri  told  the  Jew  what  he  wanted;  that  he 
was  interested  in  his  father's  favorite  umbrella, 
and  would  buy  it  if  he  could  find  it.  Did  Moricz 
know  anything  about  it? 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  was  the  disappointed  answer,  for 
now  he  knew  what  a  trifle  it  was,  he  saw  the  price 
fall  in  proportion. 

"  I  will  give  you  fifty  florins  for  any  informa- 
tion that  will  lead  to  its  discovery." 

Moricz  quickly  took  off  his  cap,  which  until 
now  he  had  not  considered  it  necessary  to  remove. 
Fifty  florins  for  an  old  umbrella!  Why,  this 
young  man  must  be  the  Prince  of  Coburg  himself 
from  Szent-Antal !  Now  he  noticed  for  the  first 
time  how  very  elegantly  he  was  dressed. 

"  The  umbrella  can  be  found,"  he  said ;  and 
then  added  more  doubtfully,  "  I  think." 

"  Tell  me  all  you  know." 

154 


The  Traces  Lead  to  Glogova 

"  Let  me  see,  where  shall  I  begin  ?  It  is  now 
about  fourteen  years  since  my  father  disappeared, 
and  I  have  forgotten  most  of  the  details,  but  this 
much  I  remember,  that  I  started  to  look  for  him 
with  my  brother  Sami,  and  in  Podhragy  I  found 
the  first  trace  of  him,  and  following  this  up,  I 
was  told  that  when  there  he  was  still  quite  in  his 
right  mind,  had  sold  a  few  trifles  to  the  villagers, 
slept  at  the  inn,  and  had  bought  a  very  old  seal 
from  a  certain  Raksanyi  for  two  florins.  He 
must  have  had  all  his  senses  about  him  then,  for 
when  we  took  him  out  of  the  Garam,  he  had  the 
seal  in  his  coat  pocket,  and  we  sold  it  for  fifty 
florins  to  an  antiquary,  as  it  turned  out  to  be  the 
seal  of  Vid  Mohorai,  of  the  time  of  King  Arpad." 

"  Yes,  but  these  particulars  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  subject  in  question,"  interrupted  the 
young  man. 

"  You  will  see,  sir,  that  they  will  be  useful 
to  you."  * 

"  Well,  perhaps  so;  but  I  don't  see  what  they 
have  to  do  with  the  umbrella." 

"  You  will  see  in  time,  if  you  will  listen  to  the 
rest  of  my  tale.  I  heard  in  Podhragy  that  he  went 
from  there  to  Abelova,  so  I  went  there  too.  From 
what  I  heard,  I  began  to  fear  that  my  father  was 
beginning  to  lose  his  senses,  for  he  had  always 
inclined  toward  melancholy.  Here  they  told  us 
that  he  had  bought  a  lot  of  '  Angel  Kreutzers' 

155 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


(small  coins,  on  which  the  crown  of  Hungary  is 
represented,  held  by  two  angels ;  they  were  issued 
in  1867,  and  many  people  wear  them  as  amulets, 
and  believe  they  bring  luck)  from  the  villagers 
for  four  kreutzers  each;  but  later  on  I  found  I 
was  mistaken  in  my  surmise." 

"  How  was  that?    Was  he  not  yet  mad?" 

"  No,  for  a  few  days  later,  two  young  Jews 
appeared  in  Abelova,  each  bringing  a  bag  of 
'  angel  kreutzers,'  which  they  sold  to  the  villagers 
for  three  kreutzers  each,  though  they  are  really 
worth  four." 

"  So  it  is  possible  .   .   ." 

"  Not  only  possible,  but  certain,  that  the  two 
young  cheats  had  been  told  by  the  old  man  to  buy 
up  all  the  '  angel  kreutzers'  they  could,  and  he 
thus  became  their  confederate  without  knowing 
it.  So  it  is  very  probable  he  may  have  been  mad 
then,  or  he  would  have  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  whole  affair.  From  Abelova  he  went  through 
the  Viszoka  Hor  forest  to  Dolinka,  but  we  could 
find  out  nothing  about  his  doings,  though  he  spent 
two  days  there.  But  in  the  next  village,  Sztrecs- 
nyo,  the  children  ran  after  him,  and  made  fun  of 
him,  like  of  the  prophet  Elijah,  and  he,  unfasten- 
ing his  pack  (not  the  prophet  Elijah,  but  my  poor 
father),  began  throwing  the  various  articles  he 
had  for  sale  at  them.  In  fifty  years'  time  they  will 
still  remember  that  day  in  Sztrecsnyo,  when  soap, 

156 


The  Traces  Lead  to  Glogova 

penknives,  and  pencils  fell  among  them  like 
manna  from  heaven.  Since  then  it  is  a  very  com- 
mon saying  there :  '  There  was  once  a  mad  Jew 
in  Sztrecsnyo.' ' 

"  Bother  Sztrecsnyo,  let  us  return  to  our  sub- 
ject." 

"  I  have  nearly  done  now.  In  Kobolnyik  my 
poor  old  father  was  seen  without  his  pack ;  in  one 
hand  he  had  his  stick,  in  the  other  his  umbrella, 
with  which  he  drove  off  the  dogs  which  barked 
at  him.  So  in  Kobolnyik  he  still  had  his  umbrella 
you  see." 

Tears  were  rolling  down  Moricz's  pock-marked 
face,  his  heart  was  quite  softened  at  the  remem- 
brance of  all  these  incidents. 

"After  that  we  looked  for  a  long  time  for  traces 
of  him,  but  only  heard  of  him  again  in  Lehota. 
One  stormy  summer  night  he  knocked  at  the  door 
of  the  watchman's  house,  the  last  in  the  village, 
but  when  they  saw  he  was  a  Jew,  they  drove  him 
away.  They  told  me  he  had  neither  a  hat  nor  an 
umbrella  then,  only  the  heavy,  rough  stick  he  used 
to  beat  us  with  when  we  were  children." 

"  Now  I  begin  to  understand  the  drift  of  your 
remarks.  You  want  to  show  that  the  umbrella 
was  lost  between  Kobolnyik  and  Lehota." 

"  Yes." 

"  But  that  proves  nothing,  for  your  father  may 
have  lost  it  in  the  wood,  or  among  the  rocks,  and 

157 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


if  any  one  found  it,  they  would  probably  make 
use  of  it  to  put  in  the  arms  of  a  scarecrow." 

"  No,  that  is  not  it,  I  know  what  happened. 
I  heard  it  by  chance,  for  I  was  not  looking  for  the 
umbrella ;  what  did  I  care  for  that !  I  wanted  to 
find  my  father.  Well,  among  the  Kvet  mountains 
I  met  a  tinker  walking  beside  his  cart,  a  very 
chatty  man  he  seemed  to  be.  I  asked  him,  as  I 
did  every  one  we  met,  if  he  had  not  seen  an  old 
Jew  about  there  lately.  '  Yes/  he  answered,  '  I 
saw  him  a  few  weeks  ago  in  Glogova  dur- 
ing a  downpour  of  rain;  he  was  spreading  an 
umbrella  over  a  child  on  the  veranda  of  a 
small  house,  and  when  he  had  done  so  he  moved 
on.'  " 

The  lawyer  sprang  up  hastily. 

"  Go  on,"  he  cried. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  to  tell,  sir.  But  from 
the  description  the  tinker  gave  me,  I  am  sure  it 
was  my  father,  and,  besides,  Glogova  lies  just 
between  Lehota  and  Kobolnyik." 

"  Well,  you  have  given  me  valuable  informa- 
tion," exclaimed  the  lawyer,  and,  taking  a  fifty- 
florin  note  out  of  his  pocketbook,  he  added: 
"  Accept  this  as  a  slight  return  for  your  kindness. 
Good-by." 

And  off  he  went  like  a  hound  which  has  just 
found  the  scent ;  over  some  palings  he  vaulted,  in 
order  to  get  to  his  cart  as  quickly  as  possible. 

158 


The  Traces  Lead  to  Glogova 

On  he  raced,  but  as  he  passed  the  gingerbread 
stall,  Moricz  Miincz  stood  before  him  again. 

"  Excuse  me  for  running  after  you,"  he  ex- 
claimed breathlessly,  "  but  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  me  that  I  might  give  you  a  word  of  advice, 
which  is  this.  There  are  a  good  many  people 
from  Glogova  here  at  the  fair,  so  you  really  might 
get  the  crier  to  go  round  and  find  out  if  they  know 
anything  of  the  umbrella.  If  you  would  promise 
a  reward  for  any  information,  in  an  hour's  time 
you  will  have  plenty,  I  am  sure.  In  a  small  village 
like  Glogova,  every  one  knows  everything." 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary,"  replied  the  lawyer, 
"  for  I  am  going  to  Glogova  myself.  Thanks  all 
the  same." 

"  Oh,  sir,  it  is  I  who  have  to  thank  you ;  you 
have  behaved  in  a  princely  fashion.  Fifty  florins 
for  such  a  trifle !  Why,  I  would  have  done  it  for 
one  florin." 

The  lawyer  smiled. 

"  And  I  would  willingly  have  given  a  thousand, 
Mr.  Miincz." 

And  with  that  he  walked  away,  past  the  stall 
where  they  were  selling  nuts,  and  onions  tied  up 
in  strings.  Moricz  stood  gazing  after  him  till  he 
was  out  of  sight. 

"  A  thousand  florins !"  he  repeated,  shaking  his 
head.  "  If  I  had  only  known !" 

And  off  he  went,  driving  his  cow  before  him. 

H59 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    EARRING. 

FROM  the  inn  opposite  Schramek's  house  lively 
sounds  proceeded.  I  beg  pardon,  I  ought  to  call 
it  "  hotel,"  at  least,  that  is  the  name  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Babaszek  delighted  in  giving  it,  and  the 
more  aristocratic  of  them  always  patronized  it  in 
preference  to  the  other  inns.  The  gypsies  from 
Pelsoc  were  there,  and  the  sound  of  their  lively 
music  could  be  heard  far  and  wide  through  the 
open  windows.  Handsome  Slovak  brides  in  their 
picturesque  dresses,  with  their  pretty  white  head- 
gear, and  younger  girls  with  red  ribbons  plaited 
into  their  hair,  all  run  in  to  join  the  dance,  and 
if  the  room  is  too  full,  late-comers  take  up  their 
position  in  the  street  and  dance  there. 

But  curiosity  is  even  stronger  than  their  love 
of  dancing,  and  all  at  once  the  general  hopping 
and  skipping  ceases,  as  Janos  Fiala,  the  town- 
servant  and  crier,  appears  on  the  scene,  his  drum 
hung  round  his  neck  and  his  pipe  in  his  mouth. 
He  stops  in  front  of  the  "  hotel,"  and  begins  to 

1 60 


The  Earring 


beat  his  drum  with  might  and  main.  What  can 
have  happened  ?  Perhaps  the  mayor's  geese  have 
strayed  ?  Ten  or  twelve  bystanders  begin  to  ply 
him  with  questions,  but  Fiala  would  not  for  the 
world  take  his  beloved  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  nor 
would  he  divulge  state  secrets  before  the  right 
moment  came.  So  he  first  of  all  beat  his  drum 
the  required  number  of  times,  and  then  with 
stentorian  voice,  shouted  the  following: 

"  Be  it  known  to  all  whom  it  may  interest,  that 
a  gold  earring,  with  a  green  stone  in  it  (how  was 
he  to  know  it  was  called  an  emerald?),  has  been 
lost,  somewhere  between  the  brickfield  and  the 
church.  Whoever  will  bring  the  same  to  the 
Town  Hall  will  be  handsomely  rewarded." 

Gyuri  paused  a  moment  at  the  sound  of  the 
drum,  listened  to  the  crier's  words,  and  then 
smiled  at  the  look  of  excitement  on  the  peasant 
girls'  faces. 

"  I  wouldn't  give  it  back  if  I  found  it,"  said 
one. 

"  I'd  have  a  hairpin  made  of  it,"  said  another. 

"  Heaven  grant  me  luck !"  said  a  third,  turning 
her  eyes  piously  heavenward. 

"  Don't  look  at  the  sky,  you  stupid,"  said  an- 
other ;  "  if  you  want  to  find  it  look  at  the  ground." 

But  as  chance  would  have  it,  some  one  found 
it  who  would  rather  not  have  done  so,  and  that 
some  one  was  Gyuri  Wibra.  He  had  only  walked 

161 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


a  few  steps,  when  a  green  eye  seemed  to  smile  up 
at  him  from  the  dust  under  his  feet.  He  stooped 
and  picked  it  up ;  it  was  the  lost  earring  with  the 
emerald  in  it.  How  tiresome,  when  he  was  in 
such  a  hurry !  Why  could  not  one  of  those  hun- 
dreds of  people  at  the  fair  have  found  it?  But 
the  green  eye  looked  so  reproachfully  at  him,  that 
he  felt  he  could  not  give  way  to  his  first  impulse 
and  throw  it  back  into  the  dust,  to  be  trampled 
on  by  the  cattle  from  the  fair.  Who  wore  such 
fine  jewelry  here?  Well,  whoever  it  belonged 
to,  he  must  take  it  to  the  Town  Hall ;  it  was  only 
a  few  steps  from  there  after  all. 

He  turned  in  at  the  entrance  to  the  Town  Hall, 
where  some  watering-cans  hung  from  the  walls, 
and  a  few  old  rusty  implements  of  torture  were 
exhibited  (sic  transit  gloria  mundi!},  went  up  the 
staircase,  and  entered  a  room  where  the  Senators 
were  all  assembled  round  a  green  baize-covered 
table,  discussing  a  serious  and  difficult  question. 

A  most  unpleasant  thing  had  happened.  One 
of  the  watchmen  in  .the  Liskovina  wood  (the 
property  of  the  town)  had  arrived  there  breath- 
lessly not  long  before,  with  the  news  that  a  well- 
dressed  man  had  been  found  hanging  on  a  tree 
in  the  wood ;  what  was  to  be  done  with  the  body  ? 

This  was  what  was  troubling  the  worthy  Sena- 
tors, and  causing  them  to  frown  and  pucker  their 
foreheads.  Senator  Konopka  declared  that  the 

162 


The  Earring 


correct  thing  to  do  was  to  bring  the  body  to  the 
mortuary  chapel,  and  at  the  same  time  give  notice 
of  the  fact  to  the  magistrate,  Mr.  Mihaly  Gery, 
so  that  he  could  tell  the  district  doctor  to  dissect 
the  body. 

Galba  shook  his  head.  He  was  nothing  if  not 
a  diplomat,  as  he  showed  in  the  present  instance. 
He  said  he  considered  it  would  be  best  to  say 
nothing  about  it,  but  to  remove  the  body  by  night 
a  little  further  on,  to  the  so-called  Kvaka  Wood, 
which  was  in  the  Travnik  district,  and  let  them 
find  the  body.  Mravucsan  was  undecided  which 
of  the  two  propositions  to  accept.  He  hummed 
and  hawed  and  shook  his  head,  and  then  com- 
plained it  was  hot  enough  to  stifle  one,  that  he 
had  gout  in  his  hand,  and  that  one  leg  of  the 
Senators'  table  was  shorter  than  the  others.  This 
latter  was  soon  remedied  by  putting  some  old 
deeds  under  the  short  leg.  Then  they  waited  to 
see  which  side  would  have  the  majority,  and  as 
it  turned  out  it  was  on  Galba's  side.  But  the 
Galba  party  was  again  subdivided  into  two  fac- 
tions. The  strict  Galba  faction  wanted  the  dead 
man's  body  transported  to  the  Travnik  district. 
The  moderated  Galba  faction,  headed  by  Andras 
Kozsehuba,  would  have  been  contented  with 
merely  taking  down  the  body,  and  burying  it 
under  the  tree;  they  wanted,  at  all  costs,  to  pre- 
vent its  being  carried  through  the  village  to  the 

163 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


cemetery,  which  would  certainly  be  the  case  if  the 
magistrate  were  informed  of  the  circumstances. 
For  if  a  suicide  were  carried  through  a  place,  that 
place  was  threatened  with  damage  by  hail !" 

"  Superstitious  rubbish !"  burst  out  Konopka. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  Mr.  Konopka,  but  who 
is  to  help  it  if  the  people  are  so  superstitious?" 
asked  Senator  Fajka,  of  the  Kozsehuba  faction. 

Konopka  wildly  banged  the  table  with  his  fat, 
be-ringed  hand,  upon  which  every  one  was  quiet. 

"  It  is  sad  enough  to  hear  a  Senator  say  such 
a  thing!  I  can  assure  you,  gentlemen,  that  the 
Lord  will  not  send  His  thunder-clouds  in  our 
direction  just  on  account  of  that  poor  dead  body. 
He  will  not  punish  a  thousand  just  men  because 
one  unfortunate  man  has  given  himself  to  the 
devil,  especially  as  the  dead  man  himself  would 
be  the  only  one  not  hurt  by  the  hail !" 

Mravucsan  breathed  freely  again  at  these  wise 
words,  which  certainly  raised  one's  opinion  of 
the  magistrates;  he  hastened  to  make  use  of  the 
opportunity,  and  as  once  the  tiny  wren,  sitting 
on  the  eagle's  wings,  tried  to  soar  higher  than  the 
eagle,  so  did  Mravucsan  try  to  rise  above  the 
Senators. 

"  What  is  true  is  true,"  he  said,  "  and  I  here- 
with beg  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that 
there  is  nothing  to  be  feared  from  hail  if  we  bring 
the  body  through  the  town." 

164 


The  Earring 


Up  sprang  Mr.  Fajka  at  these  words. 

"That  is  all  the  same  to  us,"  he  said;  "if 
matters  stand  so,  let  us  have  hail  by  all  means,  for 
when  once  all  the  villagers  are  insured  by  the 
Trieste  Insurance  Company,  I  see  no  difference 
whether  there  is  hail  or  not.  In  fact,  it  would  be 
better  if  there  were  some,  for,  if  I  know  the 
villagers  well,  they  will  immediately  go  and  insure 
the  harvest  far  beyond  its  worth  if  the  dead  body 
is  taken  through  the  village.  So  the  hail  would 
not  be  such  a  great  misfortune,  but  the  carriage 
of  the  corpse  through  the  village  would  be." 

He  was  a  grand  debater  after  all,  that  Senator 
Fajka,  for  he  had  again  hit  the  right  nail  on  the 
head,  and  at  the  same  time  enlightened  the  Galba 
and  the  Kozsehuba  factions. 

"  What  a  brain !"  they  exclaimed. 

The  word  brain  reminded  Galba  of  the  dissect- 
ing part  of  the  business — per  associationem 
idearum — and  he  at  once  began  to  discuss  the 
point. 

"  Why  dissect  the  man?  We  know  who  he  is, 
for  it  is  as  plain  as  pie-crust  that  he  is  an  agent 
for  some  Insurance  Company,  and  has  hanged 
himself  here  in  our  neighborhood  in  order  to 
make  people  insure  their  harvest.  It's  as  clear  as 
day!" 

"  You  are  mad,  Galba,"  said  Konopka  crossly. 

Upon  which  the  Senators  all  jumped  up  from 

165 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


their  places,  and  then  the  noise  broke  forth,  or,  as 
Fiala,  the  town-servant  and  crier,  used  to  say, 
"  they  began  to  boil  the  town  saucepan,"  and 
every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  mayor,  the  spoon  which 
was  to  skim  the  superfluous  froth.  But  the  mayor 
drew  his  head  down  into  the  dark  blue  collar  of 
his  coat,  and  seemed  quite  to  disappear  in  it;  he 
gnawed  his  mustache,  and  stood  there  helplessly, 
wondering  what  he  was  to  say  and  do  now,  when 
all  at  once  the  door  opened,  and  Gyuri  Wibra 
stood  before  them.  In  spite  of  all  folks  may  say, 
the  powers  above  always  send  help  at  the  right 
moment. 

At  sight  of  the  stranger,  who,  an  hour  or  two 
before,  had  wanted  to  buy  an  old  umbrella  of  Mrs. 
Muncz,  the  mayor  suddenly  pushed  back  his  chair 
and  hurried  toward  him  (let  the  Senators  think 
he  had  some  important  business  to  transact  with 
the  new  arrival). 

"  Ah,  sir,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  you  were  look- 
ing for  me,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  If  you  are  the  mayor,  yes." 

"  Of  course,  of  course!"  (Who  else  could  be 
mayor  in  Babaszek  but  Mravucsan,  he  won- 
dered?) 

"  They  have  been  crying  the  loss  of  an  earring, 
and  I  have  found  it.  Here  it  is." 

The  mayor's  face  beamed  with  delight. 

"  Now  that  is  real  honesty,  sir.    That  is  what 

1 66 


The  Earring 


I  like.  This  is  the  first  earring  that  has  been  lost 
since  I  have  been  in  office,  and  even  that  is  found. 
That's  what  I  call  order  in  the  district." 

Then  turning  to  the  Senators,  he  went  on : 

"  It  is  only  an  hour  since  I  sent  the  crier  round 
the  town,  and  here  we  have  the  earring.  They 
couldn't  manage  that  in  Budapest!" 

Just  then  he  noticed  that  the  stranger  was 
preparing  to  leave. 

"  Why,  you  surely  don't  mean  to  leave  us  al- 
ready, sir?  There  is  a  reward  offered  for  the 
finding  of  this  earring." 

"  I  do  not  want  the  reward,  thank  you." 

"  Oh,  come,  don't  talk  like  that,  young  man, 
don't  run  away  from  luck  when  it  comes  in  your 
way.  You  know  the  story  of  the  poor  man  who 
gave  his  luck  away  to  the  devil  without  knowing 
it,  and  how  sorry  he  was  for  it  afterward  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  was  sorry  for  it,"  answered  the 
lawyer,  smiling,  as  he  remembered  the  fable,  "  but 
I  don't  think  we  can  compare  this  case  with  that." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  no  idea  to  whom  the 
earring  belongs  ?" 

"  Not  the  slightest.    Whose  is  it?" 

"  It  belongs  to  the  sister  of  the  Glogova  priest." 

Gyuri  screwed  up  his  mouth  doubtfully. 

"  Don't  be  too  quick  in  your  conclusions ;  just 
come  here  a  minute;  you  won't  repent  it." 

"Where  am  I  to  go?" 

167 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  Come  into  the  next  room." 

The  mayor  wanted  to  keep  him  there  at  any 
cost,  so  as  to  gain  time  before  deciding  as  to  the 
dead  man's  future. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  important  business 
to  get  through." 

"  Never  mind,  you  must  come  in  for  a  minute," 
and  with  that  he  opened  the  door  and  all  but 
pushed  the  young  man  into  the  other  room. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  called  out  over 
Gyuri's  shoulder,  "  I  have  brought  you  your  ear- 
ring!" 

At  these  words  a  young  girl  turned  from  her 
occupation  of  putting  cold-water  bandages  on  the 
shoulder  of  an  elderly  lady,  lying  on  a  sofa.  Gyuri 
was  not  prepared  for  this  apparition,  and  felt  as 
confused  and  uncomfortable  as  though  he  had 
committed  some  indiscretion.  The  elder  woman, 
partly  undressed,  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  her 
wounded  right  shoulder  (a  remarkably  bony  one) 
was  bare.  The  young  man  at  the  door  stammered 
some  apology,  and  turned  to  go,  but  Mravucsan 
held  him  back. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said,  "  they  won't  bite  you !" 

The  young  girl,  who  had  a  very  pretty  attrac- 
tive face,  hastened  to  throw  a  cloak  over  her 
companion,  and  sprang  up  from  her  kneeling 
position  beside  the  lady.  What  a  figure  she  had ! 

168 


The  Earring 


It  seemed  to  Gyuri  as  though  a  lily,  in  all  its 
simple  grandeur,  had  risen  before  him. 

"  This  gentleman  has  found  your  earring,  and 
brought  it  you  back,  my  dear." 

A  smile  broke  over  her  face  (it  was  as  though 
a  ray  of  sunlight  had  found  its  way  into  the 
mayor's  dark  office),  she  blushed  a  little,  and  then 
made  a  courtesy,  a  real  schoolgirl  courtesy,  awk- 
ward, and  yet  with  something  of  grace  in  it. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kindness.  I  am 
doubly  glad  to  have  found  it,  for  I  had  given  up 
all  idea  of  ever  seeing  it  again." 

And  taking  it  in  her  hand  she  gazed  at  it  lov- 
ingly. She  was  a  child  still,  you  could  see  it  in 
every  movement.  Gyuri  felt  he  ought  to  say 
something,  but  found  no  suitable  words. 

This  child  disconcerted  him,  but  there  was 
something  delightful  in  her  artless  manner  which 
quite  charmed  him.  There  he  stood,  helpless  and 
speechless,  as  though  he  were  waiting  for  some- 
thing. Was  it  the  reward  he  wanted?  The 
silence  was  getting  painful,  and  the  position 
awkward.  At  last  the  girl  saw  that  the  young 
man  did  not  move,  so  she  broke  the  silence. 

"  Oh  dear !  I  had  nearly  forgotten  in  my  delight 
that  I  had  offered  ...  I  mean  .  .  .  how  am  I 
to  say  it?" 

It  now  occurred  to  Gyuri  that  she  was  offering 

169 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


him  the  reward,  so  he  thought  it  time  to  make 
known  his  name. 

"  I  am  Dr.  Wibra,"  he  said,  "  from  Beszterce- 
banya." 

"  Oh,  how  lucky !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  clapping 
her  hands  gleefully.  "  We  are  just  in  want  of 
a  doctor  for  poor  madame." 

This  little  misunderstanding  was  just  what 
was  wanted.  Gyuri  smiled. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  my  dear  young  lady ;  I  am 
not  a  doctor  of  medicine,  but  a  doctor  of  law." 

The  young  girl  looked  disappointed  at  this 
announcement,  and  blushed  a  little  at  her  mistake ; 
but  Mravucsan  was  quite  excited. 

"  What's  that  I  hear?  You  are  young  Wibra, 
the  noted  lawyer?  Well,  that  is  nice!  Who 
would  have  thought  it?  Now  I  understand.  Of 
course,  you  are  here  to  try  and  find  out  particulars 
about  one  of  your  cases.  I  might  have  thought 
of  it  when  I  met  you  at  Mrs.  Miincz's.  Of  course 
a  gentleman  like  you  must  have  some  special 
reason  for  buying  an  old  umbrella.  Well,  the 
fates  must  have  sent  you  here  now,  for  we  are 
discussing  such  a  very  difficult  question  in  the 
next  room,  that  our  minds  are  too  small  for  it. 
How  strange,  Miss  Veronica,  that  your  earring 
should  be  found  by  such  a  renowned  lawyer." 

Veronica  stole  a  look  at  the  "  renowned  law- 
yer," and  noticed  for  the  first  time  how  handsome 

170 


The  Earring 


he  was,  and  how  gentlemanly,  and  her  heart 
began  to  beat  at  the  thought  that  she  had  nearly 
offered  him  the  five  florins  reward. 

Mravucsan  hastened  to  offer  the  lawyer  a  chair, 
and  cast  an  anxious  look  round  his  office,  and 
remarked  with  horror  what  an  untidy  state  it 
was  in;  deeds  lying  about  everywhere,  coats  and 
cloaks,  belonging  to  the  Senators,  empty  glasses 
and  bottles,  for  they  were  in  the  habit  of  drink- 
ing a  glass  now  and  then  when  they  had  settled 
some  particularly  important  business,  which  was 
quite  right  of  them,  for  the  truth  that  emanated 
from  them  must  be  replaced  by  a  fresh  supply, 
and  as  the  Hungarians  say :  "  There  is  truth  in 
wine." 

The  sight  of  that  office  would  really  have  dis- 
couraged Mr.  Mravucsan  if  his  eye  had  not  at 
that  moment  fallen  on  the  portrait  of  Baron 
Radvanszky,  the  lord  lieutenant  of  the  county, 
hanging  on  the  wall  in  front  of  him.  That,  after 
all,  lent  some  distinction  to  the  room.  He  wished 
from  his  heart  that  the  baron  were  there  in  person 
to  see  what  an  illustrious  guest  they  were  harbor- 
ing. But  as  the  baron  was  not  present,  he  felt  it 
devolved  on  him  to  express  his  satisfaction  at  the 
fact. 

"  I  am  a  poor  man,"  he  said,  "  but  I  would  not 
accept  a  hundred  florins  in  place  of  the  honor  that 
is  done  to  my  poor  office  to-day.  It  is  worth 

171 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


something  to  have  the  most  renowned  lawyer  in 
the  county,  and  the  prettiest  young  lady  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Mravucsan !"  exclaimed  Veronica, 
blushing  furiously. 

"  Well,"  said  Mravucsan,  "  what's  true  is  true. 
One  need  not  be  ashamed  of  being  pretty.  I  was 
good-looking  myself  once,  but  I  was  never 
ashamed  of  it.  Besides,  a  pretty  face  is  of  great 
use  to  one,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Wibra?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  very  lucky  thing,"  answered 
Gyuri  quickly. 

Mravucsan  shook  his  head. 

"  Let  us  simply  say  it  is  a  great  help,  for  luck 
can  easily  turn  to  misfortune,  and  misfortune  to 
luck,  as  was  the  case  now,  for  if  it  had  not  been 
for  to-day's  accident,  I  should  not  now  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  all  here." 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Gyuri.  "  An  accident?" 

Veronica  was  going  to  answer,  but  that  talka- 
tive mayor  put  in  his  word  again. 

"  Yes,  there  was  an  accident,  but  in  a  short 
time  there  will  be  no  traces  of  it,  for  the  earring 
is  here,  madame's  shoulder  is  here,  it  will  be  blue 
for  some  days,  but  what  the  devil  does  that 
matter,  it  is  not  the  color  makes  the  shoulder. 
And  the  carriage  will  be  all  right,  too,  when  the 
smith  has  mended  it." 

"  So  those  horses  that  were  running  away  with 
a  broken  carriage  .  .  .  ?" 

172 


The  Earring 


"  Were  ours,"  said  Veronica.  "  They  took 
fright  near  the  brickfield,  the  coachman  lost  his 
hold  of  the  reins,  and  when  he  stooped  to  gather 
them  up,  he  was  thrown  out  of  the  carriage.  In 
our  fright  we  jumped  out  too.  I  did  not  hurt  my- 
self, but  poor  madame  struck  her  shoulder  on 
something.  I  hope  it  will  be  nothing  serious. 
Does  it  hurt  very  much,  Madame  Krisbay  ?" 

Madame  opened  her  small  yellow  eyes,  which 
till  then  had  been  closed,  and  the  first  sight  that 
met  them  was  Veronica's  untidy  hair. 

"  Smooth  your  hair,"  she  said  in  French  in 
a  low  voice,  then  groaned  once  or  twice,  and 
closed  her  eyes  again. 

Veronica,  greatly  alarmed,  raised  her  hand  to 
her  head,  and  found  that  one  of  her  plaits  was 
partly  undone. 

"  Oh,  my  hair !"  she  exclaimed.  "  The  hairpins 
must  have  fallen  out  when  I  jumped  out  of  the 
carriage.  What  am  I  to  do?" 

"  Let  down  the  other  plait,"  advised  Mravuc- 
san.  "  That's  it,  my  dear;  it  is  much  prettier  so, 
isn't  it,  Wibra?" 

"  Much  prettier,"  answered  Gyuri,  casting  an 
admiring  glance  at  the  two  black,  velvety  plaits, 
with  a  lovely  dark  bluish  tinge  on  them,  which 
hung  nearly  down  to  the  edge  of  her  millefleurs 
skirt. 

So  that  was  the  priest's  sister.  He  could  hardly 

173 


St.    Peter's   Umbrella 


believe  it,  for  he  had  imagined  a  fat,  waddling, 
red-faced  woman,  smelling  of  pomade.  That  is 
what  parish  priests'  sisters  are  generally  like. 
The  lawyer  thought  it  was  time  to  start  a  con- 
versation. 

"  I  suppose  you  were  very  frightened  ?" 

"  Not  very ;  in  fact,  I  don't  think  I  was  startled 
at  all.  But  now  I  begin  to  fear  my  brother  will 
be  anxious  about  me." 

"The  priest  of  Glogova?" 

"  Yes.  He  is  very  fond  of  me,  and  will  be  so 
anxious  if  we  do  not  return.  And  yet  I  hardly 
know  how  we  are  to  manage  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Mravucsan,  consolingly,  "  we 
have  the  horses,  and  we  will  borrow  a  cart  from 
some  one." 

Veronica  shuddered  and  shook  her  head. 

"  With  those  horses  ?    Never  again !" 

"  But,  my  dear  young  lady,  you  must  never 
take  horses  seriously,  they  have  no  real  character. 
You  see,  this  is  how  it  was.  Near  the  brickfield 
there  is  that  immense  windmill,  for  of  course 
every  town  must  have  one.  The  world  is  making 
progress,  in  spite  of  all  Senator  Fajka  says. 
Well,  as  I  said,  there  is  the  windmill.  I  had  it 
built,  for  every  one  made  fun  of  us  because  we 
had  no  water  in  the  neighborhood.  So  I  make 
use  of  the  wind.  Of  course,  the  horses  don't 
understand  that ;  they  are  good  mountain  horses, 

174 


The  Earring 


and  had  never  seen  a  beast  with  such  enormous 
wings,  turning  in  the  air,  so  of  course  they  were 
frightened  and  ran  away.  You  can't  wonder  at 
it.  But  that  is  all  over  now,  and  they  will  take 
you  quietly  home." 

"  No,  no,  I'm  afraid  of  them.  Oh,  how  dread- 
ful they  were!  If  you  had  only  seen  them!  I 
won't  go  a  step  with  them.  As  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, I  could  walk  home,  but  poor  Madame 
Krisbay  .  .  ." 

"  Now  that  would  be  a  nice  sort  of  thing  to 
do,"  remarked  Mravucsan.  "  Fancy  my  allowing 
my  best  friend's  little  sister  to  walk  all  the  way 
home  with  those  tiny  feet  of  hers!  How  she 
would  stumble  and  trip  over  the  sharp  stones  in 
the  mountain  paths!  And  his  reverence  would 
say :  'My  friend  Mravucsan  is  a  nice  sort  of  fellow 
to  let  my  sister  walk  home,  after  all  the  good 
dinners  and  suppers  I  have  given  him.'  Why,  I 
would  rather  take  you  home  on  my  own  back, 
my  dear,  right  into  Glogova  parish!" 

Veronica  looked  gratefully  at  Mravucsan,  and 
Gyuri  wondered,  if  it  came  to  the  point,  would 
Mravucsan  be  able  to  carry  out  his  plan,  or  would 
he  have  to  be  carried  himself.  The  mayor  was 
an  elderly  man,  and  looked  as  though  he  were 
breaking  up.  He  found  himself  glancing  curi- 
ously at  the  old  gentleman,  measuring  his 
strength,  the  breadth  of  his  chest,  and  of  his 

175 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


shoulders,  as  though  the  most  important  fact  now 
were,  who  was  to  take  Veronica  on  his  back.  He 
decided  that  Mravucsan  was  too  weak  to  do  it, 
and  smiled  to  himself  when  he  discovered  how 
glad  this  thought  made  him. 

Mravucsan's  voice  broke  in  upon  his  musings. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  was  saying,  "  don't  you 
worry  yourself  about  it ;  take  a  rest  first,  and  then 
we  will  see  what  is  to  be  done.  Of  course  it 
would  be  better  to  have  other  horses,  but  where 
are  we  to  get  them  from?  No  one  in  Babaszek 
keeps  horses,  we  only  need  oxen.  I  myself  only 
keep  oxen.  For  a  mountain  is  a  mountain,  and 
horses  are  of  no  use  there,  for  they  can,  after 
all,  only  do  what  an  ox  can,  namely,  walk  slowly. 
You  can't  make  a  grand  show  here  with  horses, 
and  let  them  gallop  and  prance  about,  and  toss 
their  manes.  This  is  a  serious  part,  yes,  I  repeat 
it,  a  serious  part.  The  chief  thing  is  to  pull,  and 
that  is  the  work  of  an  ox.  A  horse  gets  tired  of 
it,  and  when  it  knows  the  circumstances  it  loses 
all  pleasure  in  life,  and  seems  to  say :  '  I'm  not 
such  a  fool  as  to  grow  for  nothing,  I'll  be  a  foal 
all  my  life.'  And  the  horses  round  about  here 
are  not  much  bigger  than  a  dog,  and  are  alto- 
gether wretched-looking." 

He  would  have  gone  on  talking  all  night,  and 
running  the  poor  horses  down  to  the  ground,  if 
Gyuri  had  not  interrupted  him. 

176 


The  Earring 


"  But  I  have  my  dog-cart  here,  Miss  Veronica, 
and  will  take  you  home  with  pleasure." 

"  Will  you  really,"  exclaimed  Mravucsan.  "  I 
knew  you  were  a  gentleman.  But  why  on  earth 
didn't  you  say  so  before?" 

"  Because  you  gave  me  no  chance  to  put  in 
a  word  edgeways." 

"  That  is  true,"  laughed  Mravucsan  good- 
humoredly.  "  So  you  will  take  them  ?" 

"  Of  course,  even  if  I  were  not  going  to  Glo- 
gova  myself." 

"  Are  you  really  going  there?"  asked  Veronica, 
surprised. 

"  Yes." 

She  looked  at  him  thoughtfully  for  a  minute, 
and  then  said : 

"  Don't  try  to  deceive  us." 

Gyuri  smiled. 

"  On  my  word  of  honor,  I  intended  going  to 
Glogova.  Shall  we  all  go  together?" 

Veronica  nodded  her  head,  and  was  just  going 
to  clap  her  hands  like  the  child  she  was,  when 
madame  began  to  move  on  the  sofa,  and  gave 
a  deep  sigh. 

"  Oh  dear,"  said  Veronica,  "  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten madame.  Perhaps  after  all  I  can't  go 
with  you." 

"  And  why  not  ?  The  carriage  is  big  enough, 
there  will  be  plenty  of  room." 

177 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"Yes,  but  may  I?" 

"  Go  home  ?    Who  is  to  prevent  it  ?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  know?" 

"  What  ?"  asked  Gyuri,  surprised. 

"  Why,  etiquette,  of  course,"  she  said  shyly. 

(Gyuri  smiled.  Oh,  what  a  little  simpleton  she 
was!) 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  assured  them,  seeing  they  were 
laughing  at  her,  "  it  says  in  the  book  on  etiquette : 
*  You  must  not  accept  the  arm  of  a  stranger.' ' 

"  But  a  carriage  is  not  an  arm,"  burst  out 
Mravucsan.  "  How  could  it  be  ?  If  it  were,  I 
should  have  two  carriages  myself.  My  dear  child, 
leave  etiquette  to  look  after  itself.  In  Babaszek 
I  decide  what  is  etiquette,  not  the  French  mam- 
selles.  And  /  say  a  carriage  is  not  an  arm,  so 
there's  an  end  of  it." 

"  Of  course  you  are  right,  but  all  the  same,  I 
must  speak  to  madame  about  it." 

"  Just  as  you  like,  my  dear." 

Veronica  again  knelt  down  by  the  sofa,  and 
a  whispered  conversation  ensued,  the  result  of 
which  was,  as  Gyuri  understood  from  the  few 
words  he  could  hear,  that  madame  quite  shared 
Mravucsan's  view  of  the  case,  that  a  carriage  is 
not  an  arm,  and  that  if  two  people  have  been 
introduced  to  each  other,  they  are  not  strangers, 
and  consequently,  in  Madame  Krisbay's  opinion, 
they  ought  to  accept  the  young  man's  offer. 

178 


The  Earring 


Besides,  in  times  of  danger  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  etiquette.  Beautiful  Blanche  Montmorency  on 
the  occasion  of  a  fire  was  saved  by  the  Marquis 
Privadiere  with  nothing  on  but  her  nightgown, 
and  yet  the  tower  of  Notre  Dame  is  still  standing ! 

Gyuri  felt  as  impatient  as  a  card-player  when 
the  cards  are  being  dealt,  and  a  large  stake  has 
been  placed  on  one  of  them,  until  at  length  Ve- 
ronica turned  round. 

"  We  shall  be  very  thankful  if  you  will  take  us 
in  your  carriage,"  she  said,  smiling,  as  she  was 
sure  Blanche  Montmorency  would  have  done 
under  the  same  conditions. 

Gyuri  received  the  announcement  with  delight. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  after  the  carriage,"  he  said, 
taking  up  his  hat.  But  Mravucsan  stood  in  his 
way. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't,"  he  said.  "Pro  primo,  even 
if  Veronica  can  go,  I  am  sure  Madame  Krisbay 
cannot  start  yet;  it  would  be  a  sin  to  make  her 
drive  now;  she  must  rest  a  bit  first,  after  her 
fright  and  her  bruises.  If  my  wife  puts  some 
of  her  wonderful  plaster  on  it  to-night,  she'll  be 
perfectly  well  in  the  morning.  Pro  secundo,  you 
can't  go  because  I  won't  allow  you  to.  Pro  tertio, 
because  it  is  getting  dark.  Please  look  out  of  the 
window." 

He  was  right ;  the  sun  had  disappeared  behind 
the  dark  blue  lines  of  the  Zolyom  Hills,  and  the 

179 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


fir-trees  in  front  of  the  Town  Hall  cast  their  long 
shadows  down  the  road,  right  up  to  the  Mravuc- 
san garden,  where  a  lean  cat  was  performing  its 
evening  ablutions  among  the  oleanders.  All  the 
same  Gyuri  began  to  plead  (it  was  part  of  his 
business). 

"  It  will  be  a  quiet,  warm  night,"  he  said. 
"  Why  should  we  not  start  ?  After  all  it  can 
make  no  difference  to  madame  whether  she 
groans  in  bed  or  in  the  carriage." 

"  But  it  will  be  dark,"  objected  Mravucsan, 
"  and  there  are  some  very  bad  bits  of  road  be- 
tween here  and  Glogova,  and  two  or  three  preci- 
pices. In  spite  of  my  being  mayor,  I  cannot  order 
moonlight  for  you." 

"  We  don't  need  it ;  we  can  light  the  lamps." 

Veronica  seemed  undecided,  and  glanced  from 
one  to  the  other  of  the  gentlemen,  till  at  length 
Mravucsan  put  in  the  finishing  touch. 

"  There  will  be  a  storm  to-night,  for  there  is 
the  dead  body  of  a  man  hanging  on  a  tree  in  the 
wood  you  have  to  pass  through." 

Veronica  shuddered. 

"  I  would  not  go  through  that  wood  by  night 
for  anything,"  she  exclaimed. 

That  settled  the  question.  Gyuri  bowed,  and 
received  a  bright  smile  in  return,  and  Mravucsan 
rushed  into  the  next  room,  and  told  Konopka  to 
take  his  place  (oh,  his  delight  at  getting  rid  of 

180 


The  Earring 


his  responsibility!),  as  he  had  visitors,  and  had 
no  time  to  think  of  other  things;  and  .then  he 
whispered  in  the  ears  of  some  of  the  Senators 
(those  who  had  on  the  best  coats)  that  he  would 
be  pleased  to  see  them  to  supper.  Then  off  he 
trotted  home,  to  announce  the  arrival  of  visitors, 
and  give  orders  for  their  reception.  On  the  stair- 
case he  caught  sight  of  Fiala,  and  sent  him  to  tell 
Wibra's  coachman,  who  was  waiting  with  the 
dog-cart  outside  Mrs.  Miincz's  shop,  to  go  and 
put  up  in  his  courtyard. 

After  a  few  minutes,  Mrs.  Mravucsan  appeared 
at  the  Town  Hall  to  take  the  ladies  home  with 
her.  She  was  a  short,  stout,  amiable  woman, 
whose  broad,  smiling  face  spoke  of  good  temper 
and  kindheartedness.  She  was  dressed  like  all 
women  of  the  middle  class  in  that  part,  in  a  dark 
red  skirt  and  black  silk  apron,  and  on  her  head 
she  wore  a  black  silk  frilled  cap. 

'  She  entered  the  room  noisily,  as  such  simple 
village  folks  do. 

"  Well,  I  never !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Mravucsan 
says  you  are  going  to  be  our  guests.  Is  it  true  ? 
What  an  honor  for  us !  But  I  knew  it,  I  felt  it, 
for  last  night  I  dreamed  a  white  lily  was  growing 
out  of  my  basin,  and  this  is  the  fulfilment  of  the 
dream.  Well,  my  dear,  get  all  your  things  to- 
gether, and  I'll  carry  them  across,  for  I'm  as 
strong  as  a  bear.  But  I  forgot  to  tell  you  the 

181 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


most  important  thing,  which  I  really  ought  to 
have  said  at  the  beginning :  I  am  Mrs.  Mravucsan. 
Oh,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  should  never  have 
thought  you  were  so  pretty !  Holy  Virgin !  Now 
I  understand  her  sending  down  an  umbrella  to 
keep  the  rain  off  your  pretty  face!  So  the  poor 
lady  is  ill,  has  hurt  her  shoulder?  Well,  I've  got 
a  capital  plaster  we'll  put  on  it;  come  along. 
Don't  give  way,  my  dear,  it  has  to  be  borne. 
Why,  I  had  a  similar  accident  once,  Mravucsan 
was  driving  too.  We  fell  into  a  ditch,  and  two 
of  my  ribs  were  broken,  and  I've  had  trouble 
with  my  liver  ever  since.  Such  things  will  happen 
now  and  then.  Does  it  hurt  you  very  much?" 

"  The  lady  does  not  speak  Slovak,"  said  Ve- 
ronica, "  nor  Hungarian." 

"  Good  gracious !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mravucsan, 
clasping  her  hands.  "  So  old,  and  can't  even 
speak  Hungarian!  How  is  that?" 

And  Veronica  was  obliged  to  explain  that 
madame  had  come  direct  from  Munich  to  be  her 
companion,  and  had  never  yet  been  in  Hungary ; 
she  was  the  widow  of  a  French  officer,  she  added, 
for  Mrs.  Mravucsan  insisted  on  having  full  par- 
ticulars. They  had  received  a  letter  from  her  the 
day  before  yesterday,  saying  she  was  coming, 
and  Veronica  had  wanted  to  meet  her  at  the 
station. 

"  So  that  is  how  it  is.     And  she  can't  even 

182 


The  Earring 


speak  Slovak  nor  Hungarian!  Poor  unhappy 
woman !  And  what  am  I  to  do  with  her  ? — whom 
am  I  to  put  next  her  at  table  ? — how  am  I  to  offer 
her  anything?  Well,  it  will  be  a  nice  muddle! 
Luckily  the  schoolmaster  can  speak  German,  and 
perhaps  the  young  gentleman  can  too?" 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that,  Mrs.  Mravucsan, 
I'll  amuse  her  at  supper,  and  look  after  her 
wants,"  answered  Gyuri. 

With  great  difficulty  they  got  ready  to  go, 
Madame  Krisbay  moaning  and  groaning  as  they 
tried  to  dress  her,  after  having  sent  Gyuri  into 
the  passage.  Mrs.  Mravucsan  collected  all  the 
shawls,  rugs,  and  cloaks,  and  hung  them  over 
her  arm. 

"  We  will  send  the  servant  for  the  lady's  box," 
she  said. 

Then  she  made  madame  lean  on  her,  and  they 
managed  to  get  her  downstairs.  Madame  was 
complaining,  half  in  French,  half  in  German,  and 
the  mayor's  wife  chatted  continually,  sometimes 
to  the  young  couple  walking  in  front,  sometimes 
to  madame,  who,  with  her  untidy  hair,  looked 
something  like  a  poor  sick  cockatoo. 

"  This  way,  this  way,  my  dear  young  lady. 
That  is  our  house  over  there.  Only  a  few  more 
steps,  my  dear  madame.  Oh,  the  dog  won't  bite 
you.  Go  away,  Garam!  We  shall  be  there 
directly.  You  will  see  what  a  good  bed  I  will 

183 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


give  you  to  sleep  in  to-night;  such  pillows,  the 
softest  you  can  imagine!" 

It  made  no  difference  to  her  that  Madame 
Krisbay  did  not  understand  a  word  of  what  she 
was  saying.  Many  women  talk  for  the  sake  of 
talking.  Why  should  they  not?  They  are  prob- 
ably afraid  a  spider  might  spin  its  web  before 
their  mouth. 

"It  hurts  you,  does  it  not?  But  it  will  hurt 
still  more  to-morrow ;  that  is  always  the  way  with 
a  bruise  of  that  kind.  Why,  you  will  feel  it  in 
two  weeks'  time." 

Then,  casting  a  sly  glance  at  the  pair  walking 
in  front: 

"  They  make  a  handsome  couple,  don't  they?" 

It  was  not  far  to  the  Mravucsans'  house,  and 
it  would  have  been  nearer  still  if  there  had  not 
been  an  immense  pool  of  water  just  in  front  of  the 
Town  Hall,  to  avoid  which  they  had  to  go  a  good 
bit  out  of  their  way.  But  this  pool  was  a  neces- 
sity, for  all  the  geese  and  ducks  in  the  village 
swam  on  it,  the  pigs  came  and  wallowed  in  the 
mud  round  it,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  firemen 
took  their  water  from  here  in  case  of  fire.  Oh,  I 
forgot  to  say  that  all  the  frogs  from  the  whole 
neighborhood  had  taken  up  their  abode  in  it,  and 
gave  splendid  concerts  to  the  villagers. 

So,  as  I  said  before,  they  needed  the  pool  and 
gladly  put  up  with  its  presence,  and  it  was  con- 

184 


The  Earring 


sidered  common  property.  Once  a  civil  engineer 
had  been  sent  there  by  the  county  authorities,  and 
he  had  called  their  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
pool  ought  to  be  filled  up;  but  they  just  laughed 
at  him,  and  left  it  as  it  was. 

So  now  they  had  to  go  right  round  the  pool  to 
the  "  hotel,"  which  strangers  always  named  the 
"  Frozen  Sheep,"  in  reference  to  the  story  I  men- 
tioned before.  The  gypsies  were  still  playing 
inside,  and  outside  several  couples  were  turning 
in  time  to  music,  and  some  peasants  were  stand- 
ing about  drinking  their  glass  of  "  palinka"  (a 
kind  of  brandy),  while  a  wagoner  from  Zolyom 
sat  alone  at  a  table  drinking  as  hard  as  he  could. 
He  was  already  rather  drunk,  and  was  keeping 
up  a  lively  conversation  all  by  himself,  gazing 
now  and  then  with  loving  eyes  at  the  lean  horse 
harnessed  to  his  cart,  and  which,  with  drooping 
head,  was  awaiting  his  master's  pleasure  to 
move  on. 

"  My  neighbor  says,"  philosophized  the  wagon- 
er aloud,  "  that  my  horse  is  not  a  horse.  And 
why  is  it  not  a  horse,  pray  ?  It  was  a  horse  in  the 
time  of  Kossuth !  What  ?  It  can't  draw  a  load  ? 
Of  course  not,  if  the  load  is  too  heavy.  It  is  thin, 
is  it?  Of  course  it  is  thin,  for  I  don't  give  it 
any  oats.  Why  don't  I  give  it  any  ?  Why,  because 
I  have  none,  of  course.  What's  that  you  say? 
The  other  day  it  couldn't  drag  my  cart?  No, 

185 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


because  the  wheel  was  stuck  in  the  mud.  My 
neighbor  is  a  great  donkey,  isn't  he?" 

Upon  which,  up  he  got,  and  stumbled  over  to 
the  dancers,  requesting  them  to  give  their  opinion 
as  to  whether  his  neighbor  was  a  donkey  or  not. 
They  got  out  of  his  way,  so,  like  a  mad  dog, 
which  sees  and  hears  nothing,  the  wagoner  rushed 
upon  Madame  Krisbay. 

"  Is  mine  a  horse,  or  is  it  not?" 

Madame  was  frightened,  and  the  smell  of 
brandy,  which  emanated  from  the  good  man, 
made  her  feel  faint. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  "  she  murmured,  "what  a  country 
I  have  come  to !" 

But  Mrs.  Mravucsan,  gentle  as  she  was  gener- 
ally, could  also  be  energetic  if  necessary. 

"  I  don't  know  if  yours  is  a  horse  or  not,"  she 
said,  "  but  I  can  tell  you  you're  a  drunken 
beast!" 

And  with  that  she  gave  him  a  push  which  sent 
him  rolling  over  on  his  back.  He  lay  there 
murmuring : 

"  My  neighbor  says  my  horse  is  blind  in  one 
eye.  Nonsense !  He  can  see  the  road  just  as  well 
with  one  eye  as  with  two." 

Then  up  he  got,  and  began  to  follow  them,  and 
Madame  Krisbay,  leaving  go  of  Mrs.  Mravucsan's 
arm,  and  in  her  fright  forgetting  her  wounded 
shoulder,  took  to  her  heels  and  ran.  The  dancers 

186 


The  Earring 


seeing  her  went  into  fits  of  laughter  at  the  pair 
of  thin  legs  she  showed. 

"  How  on  earth  can  she  run  so  fast  with  such 
thin  legs?"  they  asked  each  other. 

Still  more  surprised  were  Veronica  and  Gyuri 
(who  had  seen  nothing  of  the  incident  with  the 
wagoner)  ;  they  could  not  imagine  why  the  sick 
woman  was  running  at  the  top  of  her  speed. 

"Madame!  madame!     What  is  the  matter?" 

She  gave  no  answer,  only  rushed  to  the 
Mravucsans'  house,  where  she  again  had  a  fright 
at  the  sight  of  three  enormous  watch-dogs,  who 
received  her  with  furious  barks.  She  would  have 
fallen  in  a  faint  on  the  floor,  but  at  that  moment 
Mravucsan  appeared  on  the  scene  to  receive  his 
guests,  so  she  fell  into  his  arms  instead.  The 
good  mayor  just  held  her  quietly,  with  astonished 
looks,  for  he  had  never  yet  seen  a  fainting  woman, 
though  he  had  heard  they  ought  to  be  sprinkled 
with  water,  but  how  was  he  to  go  for  water? 
Then  he  remembered  he  had  heard  that  pinching 
was  a  good  remedy,  that  it  would,  in  fact,  wake 
a  dead  woman;  but  in  order  to  pinch  a  person, 
she  must  have  some  flesh,  and  Madame  Krisbay 
had  nothing  but  bones.  So  he  waited  with 
Christian  patience  till  the  others  arrived  on  the 
scene,  and  then  gave  her  up  to  their  tender 
mercies. 

"Phew!"  he  breathed,  "what  a  relief!" 

187 


Intellectual  Society  in  Babaszek 


PART  IV 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   SUPPER   AT   THE    MRAVUCSANS*. 

I  AM  not  fond  of  drawing  things  out  to  too 
great  a  length,  so  will  only  give  a  short  descrip- 
tion of  the  Mravucsans'  supper,  which  was  really 
excellent,  and  if  any  one  were  discontented,  it 
could  only  have  been  Madame  Krisbay,  who 
burned  her  mouth  severely  when  eating  of  the 
first  dish,  which  was  lamb  with  paprika. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  something  is'  pricking 
my  throat!" 

But  the  pudding  she  found  still  less  to  her  taste 
(a  plain  paste  rolled  out  very  thin,  and  cut  into 
squares,  boiled  and  served  up  with  curds  and 
whey,  and  small  squares  of  fried  bacon). 

" Mon  Dieu!"  she  said,  "it  looks  like  small 
bits  of  wet  linen !" 

Poor  Mrs.  Mravucsan  was  inconsolable  at  her 
guest's  want  of  appetite. 

"  It  is  such  a  disgrace  for  me,"  she  said. 

Then  it  occurred  to  her  to  offer  her  some  of  her 
preserved  fruit,  and  to  this  madame  seemed  to 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


take  a  fancy,  for  she  finished  up  the  dish,  and  in 
proportion  as  her  hunger  was  appeased,  her  liking 
for  her  surroundings  increased. 

She  had  the  Lutheran  clergyman,  Samuel 
Rafanidesz,  on  her  right,  and  the  schoolmaster, 
Teofil  Klempa,  on  her  left,  and  to  them  was 
deputed  the  task  of  entertaining  the  unfortunate 
foreigner.  Their  invitations  had  been  put  in 
this  form: 

"  You  must  come,  for  there  is  to  be  a  German 
lady  at  supper,  whom  you  are  to  entertain." 

And  they  did  all  they  could  to  prove  to  the 
rest  of  the  company  how  much  at  ease  they  were 
in  good  German  society. 

Madame  Krisbay  seemed  very  contented  with 
her  neighbors,  especially  when  she  discovered 
that  the  Rev.  Samuel  Rafanidesz  was  a  bachelor. 
What!  did  clergymen  marry  there?  (Perhaps, 
after  all,  she  had  not  come  to  such  a  bad  country !) 

The  schoolmaster  was  a  much  handsomer  man, 
but  he  was  older,  and  was,  besides,  married.  He 
had  an  intelligent  face,  and  a  long,  flowing  black 
beard ;  he  had,  too,  a  certain  amount  of  wit,  which 
he  dealt  out  in  small  portions.  Madame  Krisbay 
smiled  at  his  sallies.  Poor  woman!  She  would 
have  liked  to  have  laughed  at  them,  but  did  not 
dare  to,  for  her  throat  was  still  burning  from 
the  effects  of  that  horrid  paprika.  Now  and  then 
her  face  (which  was  otherwise  like  yellow  wax) 

192 


got  quite  red  from  the  efforts  she  made  to  keep 
from  coughing,  which,  besides  being  the  fore- 
runner of  old  age,  she  also  considered  very  de- 
meaning. 

"  Don't  mind  us,  my  dear,"  called  out  the 
mayor's  wife,  "  cough  away  as  much  as  you  like. 
A  cough  and  poverty  cannot  be  hidden." 

Madame  began  to  feel  more  and  more  at  home, 
for,  as  it  turned  out,  the  clergyman  had  been  at 
school  at  Munich,  and  could  tell  a  lot  of  anec- 
dotes of  his  life  there,  in  the  Munich  dialect, 
much  to  madame's  delight.  The  Rev.  Samuel 
Rafanidesz  did  not  belong  to  the  stiff,  unpleasant 
order  of  clergymen,  and  there  was  a  Slovak  sen- 
tence composed  by  Teofil  Klempa,  often  repeated 
by  the  good  people  of  Babaszek,  which  bore 
reference  to  him,  and  which,  if  read  backward, 
gave  his  name :  "  Szedi  na  fare,  Rafanidesz" 
("  Stay  in  your  parish,  Rafanidesz  ".  But  he 
never  took  this  advice,  and  had  already  been  sent 
away  from  one  living  (somewhere  in  Nograd) 
because  of  an  entanglement  with  some  lady  in  the 
parish.  Mrs.  Mravucsan  knew  the  whole  story, 
and  even  the  lady,  a  certain  Mrs.  Baho.  She 
must  have  been  a  silly  woman,  for  it  was  she  her- 
self who  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  to  her  own  hus- 
band too ;  and  she  was  not  a  beauty  either,  as  we 
can  see  from  Mrs.  Mravucsan's  words : 

"  Rafanidesz  was  a  fool.     You  should  never 

193 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


ask  a  kiss  from  an  ugly  woman,  nor  a  loan  from  a 
poor  man,  for  they  immediately  go  and  boast  of 
it" 

Thus  Mrs.  Mravucsan.     It  is  true  she  added : 
"  But  if  any  one  were  to  call  me  as  a  witness, 
I  should  deny  the  whole  thing." 

So  you  see,  I  can't  stand  good  for  the  truth  of 
it  either.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

Madame  Krisbay  certainly  enjoyed  the  com- 
pany of  her  two  neighbors,  and  those  gentlemen 
soon  raised  the  whole  country  in.  her  estimation. 
But  it  was  lucky  she  understood  no  Slovak,  and 
could  not  hear  the  conversation  carried  on  by  the 
intelligence  of  Babaszek.  Of  course  they  were 
clever  people  too,  in  their  way,  and  Veronica  often 
smiled  at  the  jokes  made,  for  they  were  all  new  to 
her,  though  the  natives  of  Babaszek  knew  them 
all  by  heart;  for  instance,  the  rich  butcher,  Pal 
Kukucska,  always  got  up  when  the  third  course 
was  on  the  table,  and  drank  to  his  own  health, 
saying : 

"  Long  life  to  my  wife's  husband !" 
It  would  really  be  waste  of  time  to  try  and  de- 
scribe the  supper,  for  nothing  of  any  real  impor- 
tance happened.  They  ate,  they  drank,  and  then 
they  went  home.  Perhaps  they  spoke  of  impor- 
tant matters  ?  Not  they !  Only  a  thousand  trifles 
were  discussed,  which  it  would  be  a  pity  to  put  in 
print;  and  yet  the  incidents  of  that  supper  were 

194 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans* 

the  talk  of  Babaszek  for  weeks  after.  For  in- 
stance, Mr.  Mravucsan  upset  a  glass  of  wine  with 
the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  while  they  were  wip- 
ing it  up,  and  strewing  salt  on  the  stain,  Senator 
Konopka,  turning  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  ex- 
claimed : 

:'  That  means  a  christening,  madam !" 

Of  course  Mrs.  Mravucsan  blushed,  but  Ve- 
ronica asked  in  a  most  innocent  tone : 

"  How  can  you  know  that?"  (She  was  either 
a  goose,  that  young  girl,  or  she  was  a  good 
actress.) 

Now  who  was  to  answer  her  with  a  face  as  in- 
nocent as  the  Blessed  Virgin's  must  have  been 
when  she  was  a  girl  in  short  frocks?  They  all 
looked  at  each  other,  but  luckily  the  forester's 
wife,  Mrs.  Wladimir  Szliminszky,  came  to  the 
rescue  with  this  explanation : 

"  You  see,  my  dear,  the  stork  which  brings  the 
children  generally  lets  one  know  beforehand,  and 
the  knocking  over  a  glass  is  one  of  the  signs  it 
gives." 

Veronica  thought  for  a  bit,  and  then  shook  her 
head  unbelievingly. 

"  But  I  saw  the  gentleman  knock  the  glass  over 
himself,"  she  objected. 

To  this  Mrs.  Szliminszky  had  no  answer  ready, 
so,  according  to  her  usual  custom,  she  turned  to 
her  husband  and  began  worrying  him. 

195 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  Wladin,  cut  the  fat  off  that  meat." 

Wladin  frowned. 

"  But,  my  dear,  that  is  just  the  best  bit." 

"  Never  mind,  Wladin,  I  can't  allow  it.  Your 
health  is  the  first  consideration." 

And  Wladin  obediently  cut  off  the  fat  bits. 

"  Why  is  your  coat  unbuttoned  ?  Don't  you 
feel  how  cold  it  is  ?  Button  it  up  at  once,  Wladin." 

The  forester  did  as  he  was  told,  and  with  the 
pleasant  feeling  of  having  done  his  duty,  turned 
his  attention  to  his  plate  again. 

"  Not  another  bit,  Wladin,  you've  had  enough. 
We  don't  want  you  to  dream  of  bulls  to-night." 

Wladin  obediently  put  down  his  knife  and  fork, 
and  prepared  to  drink  a  glass  of  water. 

"  Give  it  me  first,"  cried  his  wife  excitedly.  "  I 
want  to  see  that  it  is  not  too  cold." 

Wladin  handed  over  his  glass  of  water. 

"  You  may  drink  a  little  of  it,  but  not  too  much. 
Stop,  stop,  that  will  do !" 

Poor  Wladin!  He  was  a  martyr  to  conjugal 
love!  For  sixteen  years  he  had  suffered  under 
this  constant  thoughtfulness,  and  though  he  was 
a  strong  man  when  he  married,  and  had  never 
been  ill  since,  yet  every  minute  of  his  life  he  ex- 
pected some  catastrophe;  for,  through  constant 
warnings,  the  unfortunate  Pole  had  worked  him- 
self up  to  the  belief  that  a  current  of  air  or  a  drop 

196 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans' 

of  water  could  be  disastrous  to  him.  He  felt  that 
Nature  had  bad  intentions  toward  him. 

"  Take  care,  Wladin,  or  the  dog  will  bite  your 
foot!" 

One  of  the  watch-dogs  was  under  the  table 
gnawing  at  a  bone  he  had  possessed  himself  of, 
and  a  little  farther  off  the  cat  was  looking  on, 
longingly,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  Give  me  some  of 
that  superfluous  food." 

Now  began  the  so-called  "  amabilis  confusio." 
Every  one  spoke  at  once,  and  every  one  about  a 
different  subject.  The  Senators  had  returned  to 
the  important  question  of  the  corpse  hanging  in 
the  wood;  Mrs.  Mravucsan  complained  that  no 
one  was  eating  anything,  and  looked  as  wretched 
as  she  could. 

Each  one  drank  to  the  other's  health,  and  dur- 
ing the  quiet  moment  that  followed,  a  voice  was 
heard : 

-"Oh,  Wladin,  Wladin!" 

It  was  Mrs.  Szliminszky's  voice;  she  evidently 
objected  to  her  husband  drinking,  and  her  neigh- 
bor, Mr.  Mokry,  the  lawyer's  clerk,  objected  to 
her  constant  distractions,  in  spite  of  the  interest- 
ing theme  they  were  discussing. 

"  That  strong  cigar  will  harm  you,  Wladin ; 
you  had  better  put  it  down.  Well,  and  why  did 
you  go  to  Besztercebanya,  Mr.  Mokry?" 

197 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  I  had  a  lot  to  do  there,  but,  above  all,  I 
bought  the  suit  I  have  on." 

He  looked  admiringly  at  his  dark  blue  suit  for 
about  the  hundredth  time  that  evening. 

"  It  is  a  very  nice  suit.  What  did  you  pay  for 
it?" 

"  I  had  it  made  to  measure  at  Klener's,  and 
went  to  try  it  on  myself." 

"  What  was  the  price?" 

"  It  is  real  Gacs  cloth,  and  quite  impervious  to 
rain ;  you  should  see  it  by  daylight !" 

"  Yes,  of  course,  but  what  did  it  cost  ?"  asked 
the  Polish  lady,  her  thoughts  still  occupied  with 
her  husband. 

"  I  saw  the  piece  of  cloth  myself ;  this  was  the 
first  length  cut  off  it.  It  has  a  peculiar  look  in  the 
sunlight." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  I  asked  the  price  of  it." 

But  it  was  difficult  to  bring  Mokry  to  think  of 
other  things  when  he  was  once  launched  on  the 
subject  of  his  new  suit. 

"  Klener  has  a  tailor  working  for  him,  a  cer- 
tain Kupek,  who  used  to  work  at  one  of  the  court 
tailors'  in  Vienna,  and  he  said  to  me :  '  Don't 
grudge  the  money,  Mr.  Mokry,  for  this  is  such  a 
durable  stuff  that  your  own  skin  will  wear  out 
first.'  Please  feel  it." 

"  It's  as  soft  as  silk.  Wladin,  my  dear,  I  think 
you  had  better  change  places  with  me.  You  are 

198 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans' 

in  a  draught  there  each  time  the  door  is  opened. 
What  are  you  making  such  a  face  for?  You 
surely  don't  mean  to  argue  with  me?  Over  you 
come  now !" 

The  beloved  martyr  changed  places  with  his 
wife,  and  now  Mrs.  Szliminszky  was  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  table,  next  to  Wibra;  but  he 
was  entirely  taken  up  with  Veronica,  who  was 
chattering  to  her  heart's  content.  The  clever 
young  man,  of  whom  it  was  said  he  would  once 
be  the  first  lawyer  in  Besztercebanya,  was  lis- 
tening to  the  girl  with  as  much  attention  as 
though  a  bishop  were  speaking,  and  would  not  for 
a  moment  have  taken  his  eyes  off  her. 

They  spoke  quietly,  as  though  they  were  dis- 
cussing very  important  questions,  though  they 
were  in  reality  speaking  of  the  most  innocent 
things.  What  did  Veronica  do  at  home?  She 
read  a  good  deal,  and  took  long  walks.  What  did 
she  read,  and  where  did  she  walk  ?  And  Veronica 
gave  the  titles  of  some  books.  Gyuri  had  read 
them  all  too,  and  they  began  exchanging  notes 
regarding  some  of  them,  such  as  "  Elemer  the 
Eagle,"  "  Ivan  Berend,"  "  Aranka  Beldi."  Gyuri 
considered  Pal  Beldi  very  stupid  for  not  accept- 
ing the  title  of  prince  when  it  was  offered  him. 
Veronica  thought  it  was  better  he  had  not  done  so, 
for  if  he  had,  the  novel  would  never  have  been 
written. 

199 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Then  Gyuri  began  to  question  her  about 
Glogova.  Was  it  very  dull  ?  Veronica  looked  at 
him,  surprised.  How  could  Glogova  be  dull  ?  It 
was  as  though  some  ignorant  person  had  asked 
if  Paris  were  dull. 

"  Is  there  a  wood  there  ?" 

"  A  beautiful  one." 

"  Do  you  ever  go  there  ?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  ?" 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"  Well,  you  know,  woods  sometimes  have  in- 
habitants one  might  be  afraid  of." 

"  Oh,  but  the  inhabitants  of  our  woods  are 
more  afraid  of  me  than  I  of  them." 

"  Can  any  one  be  afraid  of  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  they  are,  because  I  catch  them." 

"The  robbers?" 

"  Don't  be  so  silly,  or  I  shall  be  cross !" 

"  I  should  like  to  see  what  you  look  like  when 
you  are  cross." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  if  you  talk  such  rubbish  again. 
I  catch  butterflies  in  the  wood." 

"  Are  there  pretty  butterflies  there  ?  I  had  a 
collection  when  I  was  a  student ;  I  believe  I  have 
it  still." 

At  this  a  desire  for  rivalry  seized  hold  of  Ve- 
ronica. 

'  You  should  see  my  collection,"  she  said.    "  I 

200 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans* 

have  all  kinds.  Tigers,  Admirals,  Apollos ;  only, 
it  is  such  a  pity,  my  Apollo  has  lost  one  of  its 
wings." 

"Have  you  a  Hebe?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  nearly  as  big  as  the  palm  of  my 
hand." 

"  And  how  big  is  that  ?    Let  me  see  it." 

Veronica  spread  out  her  hand  on  the  table;  it 
was  not  so  very  big  after  all,  but  fine  and  pink  as 
a  roseleaf.  Gyuri  took  a  match  and  began  to 
measure  it,  and  in  doing  so,  accidentally  touched 
her  hand  with  his  finger,  upon  which  she  hastily 
drew  it  away  and  blushed  furiously. 

"  It  is  very  hot,"  she  said,  putting  up  her  hand 
to  her  hot  face,  as  though  she  had  drawn  it  away 
for  that  purpose. 

"  Yes,  the  room  has  got  quite  hot,"  broke  in 
Mrs.  Szliminszky.  "  Unbutton  your  coat,  Wla- 
din!" 

Wladin  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  undid  his 
coat. 

Veronica  returned  to  the  subject  of  the  butter- 
flies. 

"  I  think  butterfly  catching  must  be  the  same  to 
me  as  hunting  is  to  a  man." 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  butterflies,"  answered  Gy- 
uri, "  because  they  only  love  once." 

"  Oh,  I  have  another  reason  for  liking  them." 

"  Perhaps  because  of  their  mustaches  ?" 

201 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Veronica  turned  her  head  away  impatiently. 

"  Mr.  Wibra,  you  are  beginning  to  be  unpleas- 
ant." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  compliment." 

"What  compliment?" 

"  You  say  I  am  beginning  to  be  unpleasant, 
which  is  as  much  as  to  say  I  was  pleasant  till 
now." 

"  I  see  it  is  dangerous  to  talk  with  you,  for  you 
put  words  into  my  mouth  I  never  intended  say- 
ing. I  shall  not  speak  again." 

"  I'll  never  do  it  again,  never,  I  assure  you. 
Only  do  talk,"  pleaded  Gyuri. 

"  Do  the  butterflies  really  interest  you  ?" 

"  Upon  my  honor,  they  interest  one  more  at  this 
moment  than  lions  and  tigers." 

"  I  think  butterflies  are  so  pretty — like  a  beau- 
tifully dressed  woman.  And  what  tasteful  com- 
binations of  color !  I  always  look  at  their  wings 
as  though  they  were  so  many  patterns  of  ma- 
terials. For  instance,  look  at  a  Hebe,  with  its 
black  and  red  under-wings,  do  not  they  match 
beautifully  with  the  yellow  and  blue-top  wings! 
And  then  the  Tiger,  with  its  brown  and  yellow- 
spotted  dress !  Believe  me,  the  renowned  Worth 
might  with  advantage  take  a  walk  in  the  woods, 
and  learn  the  art  of  combining  shades  from  the 
butterflies." 

"  Gently,  Wladin !"  called  out  Mrs.  Szlimins- 

202 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans' 

zky  at  this  moment.  "  How  many  lungs  have 
you?  A  three-kreutzer  stamp  is  sufficient  for 
local  letters." 

Wladin  and  Senator  Fajka  were  wondering 
how  matters  would  stand  if  they  were  both  very 
deaf,  and  Wladin  was  talking  so  loudly  that  his 
loving  spouse  felt  bound  to  put  in  a  word  of  re- 
monstrance, and  request  him  to  have  some  respect 
for  his  lungs. 

"  They  are  quite  close  to  each  other,  and  yet 
they  shout  as  though  they  were  trying  to  per- 
suade some  one  not  to  put  a  fifteen-kreutzer  stamp 
on  a  local  letter.  Oh  dear!  When  will  people 
be  more  sensible?" 

At  that  moment,  Senator  Konopka  rose  and 
drank  to  the  health  of  the  host,  the  "  regenerator" 
of  Babaszek.  He  spoke  in  exactly  the  same  thin, 
piping  voice  as  Mr.  Mravucsan ;  when  the  guests 
closed  their  eyes,  they  really  believed  the  master 
of  the  house  himself  was  speaking,  and  sounding 
his  own  praises;  of  course  this  caused  great 
amusement.  Upon  that  up  sprang  the  mayor, 
and  answered  the  toast  in  Konopka's  voice,  with 
just  the  same  grimaces  and  movements  he  always 
made,  and  the  merriment  rose  in  proportion. 
Kings  do  this  too  in  another  form,  for  at  meetings 
and  banquets  they  pay  each  other  the  compliment 
of  dressing  up  in  each  other's  uniforms ;  and  yet 
no  one  thinks  of  laughing  at  them. 

203 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Toast  succeeded  toast. 

"  You  have  let  the  dogs  loose  now,"  whispered 
Fajka  to  Konopka. 

Mokry  drank  to  the  health  of  the  lady  of  the 
house,  and  then  Mravucsan  stood  up  a  second 
time  to  return  thanks  in  his  wife's  name.  He  re- 
marked that,  to  their  great  disappointment,  one 
of  those  invited  had  been  unable  to  come,  namely, 
Mrs.  Muncz,  who  had  at  the  last  moment  had  an 
attack  of  gout  in  her  foot,  which  was  no  wonder, 
considering  the  amount  of  standing  and  running 
about  she  did  when  there  was  a  fair  in  their  town. 
Then  they  all  emptied  their  glasses  to  the  health 
of  the  old  Jewess. 

After  the  shouts  of  acclamation  had  died  away, 
Wladin  Szliminszky  called  out : 

"  Now  it  is  my  turn !" 

"  Wladin,  don't  make  a  speech !"  cried  his  wife. 
"  You  know  it  is  bad  for  your  lungs  to  speak  so 
loud." 

But  she  could  do  nothing  now  to  prevent  him ; 
a  henpecked  husband  is  capable  of  everything ;  he 
will  button  or  unbutton  his  coat,  eat  or  drink  to 
order,  but  refrain  from  making  the  speech  his 
brain  has  conceived  he  will  not;  at  least,  it  has 
never  yet  been  heard  of  in  the  annals  of  Hun- 
garian history. 

"  I  take  up  my  glass,  gentlemen,  to  drink  to  the 
fairest  flower  of  the  company,  beloved  by  God, 

204 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans' 

Who  on  one  occasion  sent  down  His  servant 
from  Heaven,  saying :  '  Go  down  at  once,  Peter, 
with  an  umbrella;  don't  let  the  child  get  wet.' 
Long  life  to  Miss  Veronica  Belyi !" 

Veronica  was  as  red  as  a  rose,  especially  when 
the  guests  all  got  up  one  after  the  other,  and  went 
and  kissed  her  hand;  some  of  them  even  knelt 
to  do  it,  and  pious  Mrs.  Mravucsan  bent  down 
and  kissed  the  hem  of  her  dress. 

Gyuri  thought  at  first  on  hearing  Wladin's  pe- 
culiar speech  that  the  good  man  had  gone  mad, 
and  now  seeing  every  one  following  his  example, 
was  more  surprised  than  ever,  and  a  strange  feel- 
ing crept  over  him. 

"  What  miracle  is  it  your  husband  is  referring 
to  ?"  he  asked,  turning  to  Mrs.  Szliminszky. 

That  good  lady  looked  at  him  surprised. 

"  What !  Don't  you  know  the  story  ?  Why, 
it  is  impossible.  It  is  even  printed  in  Slovak 
verse." 

"What  is  printed?" 

"  Why,  the  story  of  the  umbrella  .  .  .  Wladin, 
you  are  very  hot,  your  face  is  the  color  of  a  boiled 
lobster.  Shall  I  give  you  my  fan  ?" 

"  What  about  the  umbrella  ?"  queried  Gyuri 
impatiently. 

"  It  is  really  strange  you  have  never  heard  any- 
thing about  it.  Well,  the  story  runs,  that  when 
your  fair  neighbor  was  a  little  child,  they  once 

205 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


left  her  out  on  the  veranda  of  the  priest's  house. 
Her  brother,  the  priest  of  Glogova,  was  in  the 
church  praying.  A  storm  came  on,  it  poured  in 
torrents,  and  the  child  would  have  been  wet 
through  and  have  got  inflammation  of  the  lungs, 
or  something  of  the  kind,  if  a  miracle  had  not 
taken  place.  An  old  man  appeared  on  the  scene, 
no  one  knows  from  where;  he  seemed  to  have 
fallen  from  heaven,  and  he  spread  an  umbrella 
over  the  child's  head." 

"  My  umbrella !"  burst  unconsciously  from  the 
lawyer. 
,      "What  did  you  say?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing." 

His  blood  coursed  more  quickly  through  his 
veins,  his  heart  beat  faster,  he  raised  his  head 
quickly,  with  the  result  that  he  also  knocked  his 
glass  over. 

"A  christening,  another  christening!"  called 
out  every  one. 

"  My  best  wishes,"  said  Mr.  Rafanidesz,  turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Szliminszky,  who  blushed  becomingly 
and  told  him  not  to  talk  nonsense. 

But  the  young  lawyer  would  not  let  her  con- 
tinue the  conversation;  he  drew  his  chair  nearer 
to  hers,  and  said : 

"  Please  go  on." 

"  Well,  the  gray-haired  man  disappeared,  no 

206 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans' 

one  knew  how  nor  where,  and  those  who  saw  him 
for  a  moment  swore  it  was  St.  Peter." 

"It  was  Miincz!" 

"Did  you  speak?" 

Gyuri  bit  his  lip,  and  saw  that  he  had  spoken 
his  thoughts  aloud. 

"  Nothing,  nothing;  please  go  on." 

"  Well,  St.  Peter  disappeared,  and  left  the  um- 
brella behind  him." 

"  And  does  it  still  exist?" 

"  I  should  think  it  does  indeed.  They  keep  it 
as  a  relic  in  the  church  of  Glogova." 

"Thank  God!" 

He  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  though  a  great 
weight  had  fallen  from  him. 

"  Found !"  he  murmured.  He  thought  he 
would  have  fallen  from  his  chair  in  his  joy. 

"And  to  whom  does  it  belong?  To  the 
Church  ?"  asked  Gyuri. 

"  It  may  be  yours  once,"  said  Mrs.  Szliminszky. 
"  It  will  be  Veronica's  when  she  marries ;  the 
priest  of  Glogova  told  me  so  himself.  '  It  will 
belong  to  my  sister/  he  said,  '  unless  she 
makes  a  present  of  it  to  the  Church  when  she 
marries.' ' 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  lawyer,  shaking  his  head. 
"At  least,  I  mean  .  .  .  What  am  I  saying? 
What  were  we  speaking  about?  It  is  fearfully 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


warm,  I'm  stifling.  Please,  Mr.  Mravucsan, 
could  we  have  the  window  open  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  and  the  mayor  ran  to  open  it. 

"  Button  up  your  coat,  Wladin !" 

A  fresh  spring  air  entered  by  the  window,  and 
a  slight  breeze  put  out  both  the  candles. 

"  Kisses  allowed,"  called  out  Klempa. 

A  branch  of  lilac  was  just  outside  the  window, 
and  spread  its  delicious  perfume  through  the 
room,  decidedly  more  pleasant  than  the  fumes 
of  tobacco  smoke  which  had  filled  it  a  minute 
before. 

Madame  Krisbay,  startled  by  the  sudden  dark- 
ness, gave  vent  to  a  little  scream,  and  Klempa 
seized  the  opportunity  to  exclaim : 

"  I  assure  you  it  was  not  I !" 

There  was  a  general  confusion  in  the  darkness, 
but  Mrs.  Szliminszky,  wanting  to  prove  she  was 
above  being  troubled  by  such  trifles,  quietly  con- 
tinued her  conversation  with  Gyuri. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  little  legend,  Mr.  Wibra.  I  am 
not  easily  imposed  upon,  and,  besides,  we  are 
Lutherans ;  but  I  must  say  it  is  a  very  pretty  leg- 
end. But  the  umbrella  is  really  wonderful. 
Sick  people  are  cured  if  they  stand  under  it;  a 
dead  man  rose  to  life  again  when  it  touched  him. 
It  is  of  no  use  your  shaking  your  head,  for  it  is 
true.  I  know  the  man  himself,  he  is  still  alive. 
Altogether  the  things  that  umbrella  has  .done  are 

208 


wonderful,  especially  the  fact  that  it  has  brought 
luck  and  riches  to  the  priest  of  Glogova." 

A  dark  suspicion  took  possession  of  Gyuri,  and 
when  the  candles  were  relighted,  it  was  to  be  seen 
he  was  as  pale  as  death. 

"  Is  the  priest  rich  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Very  rich,"  answered  Mrs.  Szliminszky. 

He  drew  nearer  to  her,  and  suddenly  seized 
hold  of  her  hand,  pressing  it  convulsively.  The 
good  lady  could  not  make  out  why.  (If  he  had 
done  so  a  minute  sooner,  she  could  have  under- 
stood it,  but  the  candles  were  alight  now!) 

"  He  found  something  in  the  umbrella,  did  he 
not  ?"  he  asked,  panting. 

Mrs.  Szliminszky  shrugged  her  white  shoul- 
ders, half  visible  through  the  lace  insertion  of  her 
dress. 

"  Why,  what  could  he  find  in  an  umbrella  ?  It 
is  not  a  box,  nor  an  iron  case.  But  for  the  last 
fourteen  years  people  have  come  from  great  dis- 
tances to  be  married  under  the  umbrella,  and  they 
pay  generously  for  it.  And  then  when  a  rich  per- 
son is  dying  anywhere  beyond  the  Bjela  Voda, 
from  the  Szitnya  right  as  far  as  Krivan,  they  send 
for  the  priest  of  Glogova  to  hear  their  confession, 
and  after  their  death,  to  bury  them  under  the  um- 
brella." 

Veronica,  to  whom  the  mayor's  wife  had  been 
showing  the  embroidered  table-cloth,  calling  her 

209 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


attention  to  the  fineness  of  the  linen,  now  caught 
a  few  words  of  the  conversation. 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  our  umbrella?"  she  asked 
amiably,  leaning  toward  them. 

Gyuri  and  Mrs.  Szliminszky  started. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  answered  the  latter,  slightly 
confused. 

Gyuri  smiled  mischievously. 

"  I  see,"  said  Veronica,  "  you  don't  believe  the 
story." 

"  No,  I  do  not." 

"  Really  ?"  asked  the  girl  reproachfully ;  "  and 
why?" 

"  Because  I  never  believe  nonsense,  and  be- 
cause .  .  .  ' 

He  had  nearly  said  too  much,  but  he  kept  back 
the  words  that  rose  to  his  lips  when  he  saw  how 
wounded  the  girl  appeared  at  his  incredulity. 
She  smiled,  turned  her  head  away,  and  gazed  si- 
lently at  her  plate.  Gyuri  was  silent  too,  though 
he  felt  inclined  to  cry  out : 

"  I  am  rich  at  last,  for  in  the  handle  of  that  um- 
brella there  are  unknown  treasures." 

It  is  remarkable  that  if  good  luck  befalls  a  man, 
his  first  wish  (for  he  still  has  wishes,  even  if  they 
are  all  fulfilled)  is  to  communicate  it  to  others; 
he  would  like  trumpets  sounded,  heralds  to  be 
sent  round  to  announce  it  to  the  whole  world. 

2IO 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans* 

But  then  comes  doubt,  the  everlasting  "  perhaps." 
And  so  it  was  with  Gyuri. 

"  What  is  the  umbrella  like,  Miss  Veronica  ?" 
he  asked. 

Veronica  closed  her  lips  firmly,  as  though  she 
considered  it  unnecessary  to  answer  him,  then 
thought  better  of  it,  and  said : 

"  It  is  not  much  to  look  at ;  it  is  of  faded  red 
stuff,  looks  a  thousand  years  old,  and  is  patched 
all  over." 

"  With  a  border  of  small  green  flowers  ?" 

"  Have  you  seen  it  ?" 

"  No,  I  only  asked." 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  border  of  green  flowers  on  it." 

"Could  I  see  it?" 

"  Certainly.     Do  you  wish  to  ?" 

"  That  is  what  I  am  going  to  Glogova  for." 

"  Why,  if  you  don't  believe  in  it  ?" 

"  Just  for  that  very  reason.     If  I  believed  in 
it  I' should  not  go." 
,     "  You  are  a  heathen." 

She  drew  her  chair  away  from  him,  at  which 
he  at  once  became  serious. 

"  Have  I  hurt  you  ?"  he  asked  contritely. 

"  No,  but  you  frighten  me,"  and  her  lovely  oval 
face  expressed  disappointment. 

"  I  will  believe  anything  you  like,  only  don't 
be  afraid  of  me." 

211 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Veronica  smiled  slightly. 

"  It  would  be  a  shame  not  to  believe  it,"  struck 
in  Mrs.  Szliminszky,  "  for  it  is  a  fact — there  is 
plenty  to  prove  it.  If  you  don't  believe  that,  you 
don't  believe  anything.  Either  the  miracles  in 
the  Bible  are  true,  and  if  so,  this  is  true  too, 
or  ..." 

But  she  could  not  finish  her  sentence,  for  at  that 
moment  Madame  Krisbay  rose  from  the  table, 
saying  she  was  tired,  and  would  like  to  retire  to 
her  room,  and  Mrs.  Mravucsan  led  her  and 
Veronica  to  two  small  rooms  opening  on  to  the 
courtyard.  In  the  doorway  Gyuri  bowed  to 
Veronica,  who  returned  it  with  a  slight  nod. 

"Shall  we  start  early  in  the  morning?"  he 
asked. 

She  bowed  with  mock  humility. 

"  As  you  like,  Mr.  Thomas,"  she  said. 

Gyuri  understood  the  reference,  and  answered 
in  the  same  strain : 

"  It  depends  upon  how  long  the  saints  sleep." 

Veronica  turned  her  head,  and  shook  her  fist 
playfully  at  him. 

"  I  will  pay  you  out !"  she  said. 

Gyuri  could  hardly  take  his  eyes  off  her,  she 
looked  so  pretty  as  she  spoke.  Let  the  saints 
look  like  that  if  they  could ! 

Soon  after  the  Szliminszky  pair  started  for 
home,  accompanied  by  a  man  carrying  a  lantern. 

212 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans' 

Mrs.  Szliminszky  had  made  Wladin  put  on  a  light 
spring  coat,  hung  a  long  cloak  over  his  shoulders, 
tied  a  big  woollen  scarf  round  his  neck,  and  having 
ordered  him  only  to  breathe  through  his  nose, 
once  they  were  out,  she  turned  to  Gyuri  again. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  legend,  it  made  a  great 
impression  on  me." 

"  Poor  legends !"  returned  Gyuri.  "  If  we 
were  to  pick  some  of  them  to  pieces,  and  take  the 
romance  out  of  them,  their  saintly  odor,  their 
mystery,  what  strange  and  simple  truths  would 
be  left!" 

"  Well,  they  must  not  be  picked  to  pieces,  that 
is  all.  Wladin,  turn  up  the  collar  of  your  coat." 

The  lawyer  thought  for  a  minute. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  said. 

After  a  short  time  Gyuri  also  asked  to  be  shown 
to  his  room. 

"  The  magnet  has  gone !"  muttered  the  lawyer's 
clerk. 

Hardly  had  the  door  closed  when  Kukucska, 
the  butcher,  exclaimed : 

"  Now  we  are  free !" 

He  took  off  his  coat,  rolled  up  his  sleeves,  thus 
showing  the  head  of  an  ox  tatooed  on  his  left 
arm,  then  winked  knowingly  at  Mravucsan.  The 
mayor  seemed  to  understand  the  look,  for  he  went 
to  a  cupboard  and  pulled  out  one  of  the  drawers, 
from  which  he  took  a  pack  of  cards.  The  knave 

213 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


of  spades  was  missing,  but  that  did  not  make  any 
difference  to  the  intelligent  members  of  Babaszek 
society,  for  they  had  once  before  played  "Prefer- 
ence" with  those  cards,  and  the  last  player  had 
simply  received  one  card  less  when  they  were  dealt 
out,  though  he  was  supposed  to  have  the  knave 
of  spades,  and  it  was  called  the  "  spirit  card."  If 
they  were  playing  spades,  the  last  player  in  imagi- 
nation threw  the  knave  on  it,  saying :  "  I  play  the 
spirit  card !"  So  now,  in  spite  of  this  small  diffi- 
culty, they  decided  to  play,  and  the  game  lasted  till 
daylight.  The  Senators,  the  butcher,  and  the 
clergyman  played,  the  lawyer's  clerk  dealt,  and 
Klempa  looked  on,  having  no  money  to  lose, 
and  went  from  one  player  to  the  other,  looking 
over  their  shoulders,  and  giving  them  advice 
what  to  play.  But  one  after  the  other  sent  him 
away,  declaring  he  brought  them  bad  luck,  which 
rather  depressed  him.  So  the  poor  schoolmaster 
wandered  from  one  to  the  other,  till  at  last 
he  took  a  seat  between  the  clergyman  and  the 
butcher,  dropped  his  weary  head  on  the  table, 
and  went  to  sleep,  his  long  beard  doubled  up, 
and  serving  as  a  pillow.  But  he  was  to  have 
a  sad  awakening,  for  that  mischievous  Pal  Ku- 
kucska,  seeing  the  beard  on  the  table,  conceived 
the  idea  of  sealing  it  there;  and  fetching  a  can- 
dle and  sealing-wax,  they  dropped  some  on  the 
beard  in  three  places,  and  Mravucsan  pressed 

214  . 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans' 

his  own  signet  ring  on  it.  Then  they  went  on 
playing,  until  he  should  awake. 

Other  incidents,  and  not  very  pleasant  ones 
either,  were  taking  place  in  the  house.  Madame 
Krisbay,  to  whom  the  mayor's  wife  had  given  her 
own  bedroom,  would  not  go  to  bed  with  the  enor- 
mous eider-down  quilt  over  her,  for  she  was 
afraid  of  being  suffocated  during  the  night.  She 
asked  for  a  "  paplan  "  (a  kind  of  wadded  bed 
cover),  but  Mrs.  Mravucsan  did  not  possess  such 
a  thing,  so  she  brought  in  her  husband's  enor- 
mous fur-lined  cloak  and  threw  it  over  madame, 
which  so  frightened  the  poor  nervous  woman  that 
she  was  attacked  by  migraine,  and  the  mayor's 
wife  had  to  spend  the  night  by  her  bed,  putting 
horse-radish  on  her  temples. 

An  unpleasant  thing  happened  to  Veronica  too. 
As  soon  as  she  was  alone  in  the  Mravucsans'  best 
bedroom,  she  locked  the  door,  hung  a  cloak  on 
the  door-handle  so  that  no  one  could  look  through 
the  key-hole,  drew  the  curtains  across  the  tiny 
windows  which  opened  on  to  the  courtyard,  and 
then  began  to  undress.  She  had  taken  off  the 
bodice  of  her  dress  and  unfastened  her  skirt,  when 
all  at  once  she  became  aware  of  two  bright  eyes 
watching  her  intently  from  under  the  bed.  It 
was  a  kitten,  and  it  was  gazing  at  her  as  intently 
and  admiringly  as  though  it  had  been  a  prince 
changed  by  some  old  witch  into  the  form  of  a  cat. 

215 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Veronica,    alarmed,    caught    up    her    skirt    and 
bodice,  and  put  them  on  again. 

"  Go  along,  you  tiresome  kitten,"  she  said ; 
"  don't  look  at  me  when  I'm  undressing." 

She  was  such  an  innocent  child,  she  was 
ashamed  to  undress  before  the  kitten.  She 
dressed  again,  and  tried  to  drive  it  out  of  the 
room,  but  it  hid  itself  under  the  bed,  then  jumped 
on  a  cupboard,  and  it  was  quite  impossible  to  get 
rid  of  it.  Mrs.  Mravucsan,  hearing  the  noise 
from  the  next  room,  called  out : 

"  ,What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  ?" 

"  I  can't  drive  the  cat  out." 

"  Never  mind,  she  won't  hurt  you." 

"  But  she  always  watches  me,"  answered  Ve- 
ronica. 

She  put  her  candle  out,  and  began  to  undress 
in  the  dark,  but  that  tiresome  cat  walked  into  the 
middle  of  the  room  again,  and  her  eyes  shone 
more  than  ever. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  you  curious  little  thing,"  said 
Veronica.  "  I'll  get  the  best  of  you  yet." 

She  made  a  barricade  of  chairs,  then  got  inside 
it,  as  though  she  were  in  a  fortress,  and  began  to 
undo  her  boots.  Do  you  think  that  barricade 
made  any  impression  on  the  kitten  ?  Not  a  bit  of 
it.  There  she  was  again,  on  the  top  of  the  chairs, 
from  there  one  jump  took  her  on  to  the  washing- 
stand,  and  another  on  to  Veronica's  bed.  There 

216 


The  Supper  at  the  Mravucsans' 

she  was  seized  upon  and  a  shawl  bound  round 

her  head. 

"  Now,  kitty,  stare  at  me  if  you  can !" 

And  after   that  she  managed   to   undress   in 

peace. 


CHAPTER  II. 

NIGHT    BRINGS    COUNSEL. 

WHILE  the  two  ladies  were  occupied  with 
these  trifles,  and  Klempa  with  his  beard  sealed  to 
the  table  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just,  Gyuri  had  also 
retired  to  his  bed,  but  found  it  impossible  to  sleep. 
It  was  not  from  indigestion,  for  Mrs.  Mravuc- 
san's  excellent  supper  had  not  disagreed  with 
him;  it  was  his  brain  which  was  hard  at  work, 
going  over  all  the  incidents  that  had  taken  place 
that  day.  He  seemed  to  have  lived  through  years 
in  the  last  few  hours.  What  an  age  it  seemed 
since  he  had  looked  for  the  umbrella  in  Mrs. 
Muncz's  shop!  And  it  was  found  quite  unex- 
pectedly. God  had  given  it  into  the  charge  of  an 
angel. 

From  the  umbrella  his  thoughts  flew  to  the 
"  angel." 

She  was  a  nice  little  thing,  he  decided;  not  a 
bit  unpleasant  like  other  girls  of  that  age  he  knew, 
who  were  thoughtless,  useless  creatures.  Ve- 

218 


Night  Brings  Counsel 

ronica  was  an  exception.  And  she  seemed  to  have 
taken  to  him  too. 

He  passed  again  in  revision  all  her  words,  her 
movements,  and  as  he  went  on,  he  found  among 
the  smiles,  the  softened  voice,  the  unwatched  mo- 
ments, certain  signs  of  coldness  here  and  there,  as 
though  she  were  putting  a  restraint  upon  herself. 

But  he  was  so  happy  now,  that  he  did  not  need 
the  friendship  of  a  silly  girl.  He  was  a  rich  man 
now,  a  nabob  beginning  from  to-day.  He  would 
live  like  a  prince  henceforward,  spend  the  winter 
in  Budapest,  or  on  the  Riviera,  in  Monaco,  and 
the  summer  at  Ostend;  in  fact,  he  would  be  a 
grand  gentleman,  and  not  even  look  at  poor 
priests'  sisters.  (How  tiresome  it  was,  his 
thoughts  would  always  return  to  Veronica. ) 

Sleep  would  not  come,  how  could  it  be  ex- 
pected? One  scheme  after  the  other  passed  be- 
fore his  mind's  eye,  like  the  butterflies  in  the  Glo- 
gova' woods.  And  he  chased  them  all  in  turn. 
Oh !  if  it  were  only  daylight,  and  he  could  move 
on.  His  watch  was  ticking  on  the  table  beside 
his  bed ;  he  looked  at  it,  the  hands  pointed  to  mid- 
night. Impossible!  It  must  be  later  than  that; 
his  watch  must  be  slow !  Somewhere  in  the  dis- 
tance a  cock  crew,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  Your 
watch  is  quite  right,  Mr.  Wibra."  He  heard 
faint  sounds  of  music  proceeding  from  the 
"  Frozen  Sheep  "  in  the  distance,  and  some  one  on 

219 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


his  way  home  was  singing  a  Slovak  shepherd's 
song. 

Gyuri  lighted  a  cigar,  and  sat  down  to  smoke  it 
and  think  things  over.  How  strangely  the  um- 
brella had  been  found — at  least  he  had  not  found 
it  yet,  it  was  not  yet  in  his  possession,  and  when 
he  came  to  look  at  the  facts,  he  found  he  was  not 
much  nearer  to  it  than  he  had  been.  Until  now 
he  had  supposed  it  had  been  thrown  away  as  a 
useless  rag,  and  he  had  had  little  hope  of  finding 
it.  And  now,  what  had  happened?  Things 
were  quite  different  to  what  they  had  imagined 
them;  for  as  it  turned  out,  the  umbrella  was  a 
treasure,  a  relic  in  a  church.  What  was  to  be 
done  about  it  ?  What  was  he  to  say  to  the  priest 
to-morrow?  "I  have  come  for  my  umbrella"? 
The  priest  would  only  laugh  at  him,  for,  either 
he  was  bigoted  and  superstitious,  in  which  case 
he  would  believe  St.  Peter  had  brought  the  um- 
brella to  his  sister,  or  he  was  a  Pharisee,  and  in 
that  case  he  would  not  be  such  a  fool  as  to  betray 
himself. 

The  wind  was  rising,  and  the  badly  fitting  win- 
dows and  door  of  the  little  room  that  had  been 
allotted  to  him  were  rattling,  and  the  furniture 
cracked  now  and  then.  He  could  even  hear  the 
wind  whistling  through  the  Liskovina  Wood,  not 
far  from  the  house.  Gyuri  blew  out  the  light  and 
lay  down  again  under  the  big  eider-down  quilt, 

220 


Night  Brings  Counsel 

and  imagined  he  saw  the  corpse  Mr.  Mravucsan 
had  spoken  of,  hanging  from  a  tree,  waving  from 
side  to  side  in  the  wind,  and  nodding  its  head  at 
him,  saying :  "  Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Wibra,  you'll  be 
well  laughed  at  in  the  parish  of  Glogova." 

The  lawyer  tossed  about  on  the  snow-white 
pillows,  from  which  an  odor  of  spring  emanated 
(they  had  been  out  in  the  garden  to  air  the  day 
before). 

"  Never  mind,"  thought  he,  "  the  umbrella  is 
mine  after  all.  I  can  prove  it  in  a  court  of  jus- 
tice if  necessary.  I  have  witnesses.  There  are 
Mr.  Sztolarik,  Mrs.  Miincz  and  her  sons,  the 
whole  town  of  Besztercebanya." 

Then  he  laughed  bitterly. 

"And  yet,  what  am  I  thinking  of?  I  can't 
prove  it,  for,  after  all,  the  umbrella  does  not  belong 
to  me,  but  to  the  Miincz  family,  for  the  old  man 
bought  it.  So  only  that  which  is  in  the  handle 
belongs  to  me.  But  can  I  go  to  the  priest  and 
say :  '  Your  reverence,  in  the  handle  of  the  um- 
brella is  a  check  for  200,000  or  300,000  florins, 
please  give  it  to  me,  for  it  belongs  of  right  to 
me'?" 

Then  Gyuri  began  to  wonder  what  the  priest 
would  answer.  He  either  believed  the  legend  of 
the  umbrella,  and  would  then  say :  "  Go  along, 
do !  St.  Peter  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to  bring  you 
a  check  on  a  bank  from  Heaven!"  Or  if  he  did 

221 


St.    Peter's   Umbrella 


look  in  the  handle  and  find  the  receipt,  he  would 
say :  "  Well,  if  he  did  bring  it,  he  evidently 
meant  it  for  me."  And  he  would  take  it  out  and 
keep  it.  Why  should  he  give  it  to  Gyuri  ?  How 
was  he  to  prove  it  belonged  to  him? 

"  Supposing,"  thought  our  hero,  "  I  were  to  tell 
him  the  whole  story,  about  my  mother,  about  my 
father,  and  all  the  circumstances  attending  his 
death.  Let  us  imagine  he  would  believe  it  from 
Alpha  to  Omega ;  of  what  use  would  it  be  ?  Does 
it  prove  that  the  treasure  is  mine?  Certainly 
not.  And  even  if  it  did,  would  he  give  it  to  me? 
A  priest  is  only  a  man  after  all.  Could  I  have  a 
lawsuit,  if  he  would  not  give  it  me  ?  What  non- 
sense! Of  course  not.  He  might  take  the  re- 
ceipt out  of  the  handle,  and  what  proofs  can  I 
bring  then  that  it  was  ever  in  it  ?" 

The  perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead;  he  bit 
the  bed-clothes  in  his  helpless  rage.  To  be  so 
near  to  his  inheritance,  and  yet  not  be  able  to 
seize  hold  of  it!" 

"  Black  night,  give  counsel !"  was  Gyuri's 
prayer.  And  it  is  best,  after  all,  to  turn  to  the 
night  for  help.  Gyuri  was  right  to  ask  its  advice, 
for  it  is  a  good  friend  to  thought.  Among  the 
Golden  Rules  should  be  written :  "  Think  over  all 
your  actions  by  night,  even  if  you  have  decided  by 
day  what  course  to  take !"  For  a  man  has  night 
thoughts  and  day  thoughts,  though  I  do  not  know 

222 


Night  Brings.  Counsel 

which  are  the  better.  I  rather  think  neither  kind 
is  perfect.  For  daylight,  like  a  weaver,  works  its 
colors  into  one's  thoughts,  and  night  covers  them 
with  its  black  wings.  Both  of  them  paint,  in- 
crease and  decrease  things — in  one  word,  falsify 
them.  Night  shows  the  beloved  one  more  beau- 
tiful than  he  is,  it  strengthens  one's  enemies,  in- 
creases one's  troubles,  diminishes  one's  joy.  It 
is  not  kind  of  it;  but  night  is  sovereign,  and  is 
answerable  to  no  one  for  its  actions.  Take  things 
as  they  come,  but  do  not  put  aside  serious  thought 
when  you  are  seeking  the  truth.  Though,  of 
course,  you  do  not  really  seek  the  truth ;  even  if  it 
comes  to  meet  you,  you  get  out  of  its  way.  I 
ought  to  have  said,  do  not  despise  the  night  when 
you  are  trying  to  find  the  way  out  of  a  thing. 
Night  will  show  you  what  to  do,  without  your 
even  noticing  it.  If  it  can  do  it  in  no  other  way, 
it  brings  you  gentle  sleep,  and  gives  you  advice 
in  dreams. 

After  a  time  the  wind  dropped,  the  music  at 
the  "  Frozen  Sheep "  ceased,  and  Gyuri  heard 
nothing  but  a  rhythmic  murmur,  and  all  at  once 
he  seemed  to  be  in  the  woods  of  Glogova,  chasing 
butterflies  with  Veronica. 

As  they  ran  on  among  the  bushes,  an  old  man 
suddenly  appeared  before  them,  with  a  golden 
crook,  a  glory  round  his  head,  and  his  hat  hanging 
by  a  bit  of  string  from  his  neck. 

223 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  Are  you  Mr.  Wibra  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes;  and  you?" 

"  I  am  St.  Peter." 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"  I  wish  to  sign  a  receipt  for  your  happiness." 

"  For  my  happiness  ?" 

"  I  see  you  cannot  get  your  umbrella,  and  my 
friend  Gregorics  has  asked  me  to  help  you.  So 
I  am  quite  willing  to  sign  a  paper  declaring  that 
I  did  not  give  the  umbrella  to  the  young  lady." 

"It  is  very  good  of  you,  but  I  have  neither 
paper  nor  ink  here.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  vil- 
lage." 

"  I  have  no  time  for  that ;  you  know  I  have  to 
be  at  the  gates  of  Heaven,  and  I  can't  stay  away 
for  long." 

"  Well,  what  am  I  to  do,  how  am  I  to  get  my 
umbrella  ?" 

St.  Peter  turned  his  back,  and  began  to  walk 
back  the  way  he  had  come,  but  stood  still  beside  a 
large  oak-tree,  and  made  a  sign  to  Gyuri  to  ap- 
proach. Gyuri  obeyed. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  friend,  don't  think  too 
long  about  it,  but  marry  Veronica,  and  then  you 
will  have  the  umbrella  too." 

"  Come,"  said  Gyuri,  catching  hold  of  the 
golden  crook.  "  Come  and  ask  her  brother  to 
give  his  permission." 

He  pulled  hard  at  the  crook,  but  at  that  moment 

224 


Night  Brings  Counsel 

a  strong  hand  seemed  to  pull  him  back,  and  he 
awoke. 

Some  one  was  knocking  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said  sleepily. 

It  was  the  Mravucsans'  farm-servant. 

"  I've  come  for  your  boots,"  he  announced. 

Gyuri  rubbed  his  eyes.  It  was  day  at  last,  the 
sun  was  smiling  at  him  through  the  window.  His 
thoughts  were  occupied  with  his  dream,  every  in- 
cident of  which  was  fresh  in  his  mind.  He 
thought  he  heard  St.  Peter's  voice  again  saying: 
"  Marry  Veronica,  my  friend,  and  then  you  will 
have  the  umbrella  too." 

"  What  a  strange  dream,"  thought  Gyuri  ; 
"  and  how  very  much  logic  it  contains !  Why,  I 

might  have  thought  of  that  solution  myself !" 
******* 

By  the  time  Gyuri  was  dressed,  it  was  getting 
late,  and  every  member  of  the  Mravucsan  house- 
hold was  on  foot.  One  was  carrying  a  pail  to  the 
stables,  another  a  sieve,  and  near  the  gate  which 
last  night's  wind  had  partly  lifted  off  its  hinges, 
Gyuri's  coachman  was  examining  the  damage 
done.  Seeing  his  master  advancing  toward  him, 
he  took  off  his  hat  with  its  ostrich  feathers  (part 
of  the  livery  of  a  Hungarian  coachman  is  a  kind 
of  round  hat,  with  two  ends  of  black  ribbon  hang- 
ing from  it  at  the  back,  and  some  small  ostrich 
tips  in  it). 

225 


"  Shall  I  harness  the  horses,  sir?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  Here,  my  good  girl,  are 
the  ladies  up  ?" 

"  They  are  breakfasting  in  the  garden,"  an- 
swered the  maid  he  had  accosted.  "  Please  walk 
this  way." 

"  Well,  then,  you  may  harness,  Janos." 

Gyuri  found  the  ladies  seated  round  a  stone 
table  under  a  large  walnut-tree.  They  had  fin- 
ished breakfast,  only  madame  was  still  nibbling 
a  bit  of  toast.  He  was  received  with  ironical 
smiles,  and  Veronica  called  out : 

"  Here  comes  the  early  riser!" 

"  That  title  belongs  to  me,"  said  Mravucsan, 
"  for  I  have  not  been  to  bed  at  all.  We  played 
cards  till  daybreak.  Klempa  is  still  asleep  with 
his  beard  sealed  to  the  table." 

"  A  nice  sort  of  thing  for  grown-up  folks  to 
do !"  remarked  Mrs.  Mravucsan. 

Gyuri  shook  hands  with  them  all,  and  Veronica 
got  up  and  made  a  deep  courtesy. 

"  Good-morning,  early  riser,"  she  said.  "  Why 
are  you  staring  at  me  so  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  stammered  Gyuri, 
gazing  at  the  girl's  beautiful  face,  "  but  you  seem 
to  me  to  have  grown." 

"In  one  night?" 

"  You  were  quite  a  little  girl  yesterday." 

"  You  appear  to  be  dazed !" 

226 


Night  Brings  Counsel 

"  I  certainly  am  when  I  look  at  you." 

"  You  seem  to  be  sleepy  still.  Is  this  the  time 
of  day  to  get  up  ?" 

The  playful,  gentle  tone  was  delightful  to 
Gyuri,  and  he  began  to  be  quite  talkative. 

"  I  fell  asleep  for  a  short  time,  and  if  the  ser- 
vant had  not  woke  me,  I  should  be  asleep  still. 
Oh,  if  he  had  only  waited  five  minutes  longer !" 

"  Had  you  such  a  pleasant  dream  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Mravucsan.  "  Will  you  take  some  coffee  ?" 

"  If  you  please." 

"  Won't  you  tell  us  your  dream  ?" 

"  I  was  going  to  marry — in  fact,  had  got  as  far 
as  the  proposal." 

"  Did  she  refuse  you?"  asked  Veronica,  raising 
her  head,  the  beauty  of  which  was  enhanced  by  the 
rich  coronet  of  hair,  in  which  she  had  stuck  a 
lovely  pink. 

"  I  don't  know  what  would  have  happened,  for 
at  the  'critical  moment  the  servant  woke  me." 

"  What  a  pity,  we  shall  never  know  how  it 
would  have  turned  out !" 

"  You  shall  know  some  time." 

"How?" 

"  I  will  tell  you." 

"  How  can  you  do  that  ?  Dreams  cannot  be 
continued  from  one  night  to  another  like  novels 
in  a  periodical." 

Gyuri  drank  his  coffee,  lit  a  cigar,  and  from  out 

227 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


the  cloud  of  smoke  he  replied  in  a  mysterious 
voice,  his  eyes  turned  heavenward: 

"  There  are  such  dreams,  as  you  will  see.  And 
how  did  you  sleep?" 

Thereupon  Mrs.  Mravucsan  began  to  tell  the 
story  of  Veronica's  adventure  with  the  kitten. 
Every  one  laughed,  poor  Veronica  was  covered 
with  blushes,  and  Mrs.  Mravucsan,  rinding  the  op- 
portunity a  good  one,  launched  upon  a  little  lec- 
ture. 

"  My  dear  child,  exaggeration  is  never  good,  not 
even  in  modesty.  You  will  have  to  get  used  to 
such  things.  What  will  you  do  when  you  are 
married  ?  You  will  not  be  able  to  shut  your  hus- 
band out  of  your  room." 

"  Oh,  dear !"  exclaimed  Veronica.  "  How  can 
you  say  such  dreadful  things !" 

And  she  jumped  up,  blushing  furiously,  and 
ran  away  to  the  gooseberry-bushes,  where  her 
dress  got  caught,  and  in  trying  to  move  on,  the 
gathers  got  torn.  Thereupon  there  was  a  rush 
for  needle  and  thread,  and  the  confusion  was 
heightened  when  the  carriage  drove  up,  the  two 
handsome  black  horses  pawing  the  ground  im- 
patiently. 

(The  lawyer's  business  must  be  a  good  one; 
he  must  have  lied  a  lot  to  be  able  to  buy  such 
horses!) 

Every  member  of  the  household  had  some  task 

228 


Night  Brings  Counsel 

allotted  to  her.  Anka  must  wrap  up  the  ham  in 
a  cloth,  Zsuzsa  must  run  and  fetch  the  fresh  bread 
that  had  been  baked  for  the  occasion.  Some  one 
else  must  bring  knives  and  forks.  Would  they 
like  a  little  fruit  packed  in  the  basket?  The  for- 
eign lady  would  be  glad  of  something  of  the  kind. 
And  should  she  put  a  small  pot  of  jam  in  too?" 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Mravucsan,  we  shall  be  at 
home  by  dinner-time !" 

"  And  supposing  something  happens  to  prevent 
it?  You  never  can  know." 

And  off  she  went  to  her  storeroom,  while  the 
mayor  tried  to  persuade  them  to  stay  at  least  an 
hour  longer;  but  it  was  of  no  use,  the  travellers 
had  made  up  their  minds  to  start;  not  even  the 
possibility  of  seeing  Klempa  wake  up  would  in- 
duce them  to  change  their  plans. 

They  got  into  the  carriage,  the  two  ladies  on  the 
back  seat,  and  Gyuri  on  the  box  with  the  coach- 
man, '  but  his  face  turned  toward  the  ladies. 
Whether  he  would  hold  out  in  that  uncomfortable 
position  till  Glogova  remained  to  be  seen. 

"  To  Glogova,"  said  Gyuri  to  the  coachman, 
and  Janos  cracked  his  whip  and  the  horses  started, 
but  hardly  were  they  out  of  the  yard,  when  the 
mayor's  wife  came  tripping  after  them,  calling 
out  to  them  at  the  top  of  her  voice  to  stop.  They 
did  so,  wondering  what  had  happened.  But  noth- 
ing serious  was  the  matter,  only  Mrs.  Mravucsan 

229 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


had  unearthed  a  few  apples  in  her  storeroom,  with 
which  she  filled  their  pockets,  impressing  upon 
them  that  the  beautiful  rosy-cheeked  one  was  for 
Veronica.  Then  they  started  again,  with  a  great 
amount  of  waving  of  handkerchiefs  and  hats,  un- 
til the  house,  with  its  smoking  chimneys  and  its 
large  walnut-tree,  was  out  of  sight. 

As  they  passed  Mrs.  Miincz's  shop  she  was 
standing  at  the  door  in  her  white  cap,  nodding  to 
them  with  her  gray  head,  which  seemed  cut  into 
two  parts  by  the  broad-rimmed  spectacles.  At 
the  smithy  they  were  hammering  away  at  the 
priest's  broken  chaise,  and  farther  on  various  ob- 
jects which  had  been  left  unsold  at  yesterday's 
fair  were  being  packed  in  boxes,  and  then  put  in 
carts  to  be  taken  home  again.  They  passed  in 
turn  all  the  tiny  houses,  with  their  brightly- 
painted  doors,  on  which  the  names  of  the  owners 
were  printed  in  circles.  At  the  last  house,  oppo- 
site the  future  Jewish  burial-ground,  two  pistol- 
shots  were  fired. 

The  travellers  turned  their  heads  that  way,  and 
saw  Mr.  Mokry  in  his  new  suit,  made  by  the  noted 
tailor  of  Besztercebanya,  with  his  hat  in  one  hand, 
and  in  the  other  the  pistol  he  had  fired  as  a  fare- 
well greeting.  On  the  other  side  of  the  road 
was  the  dangerous  windmill,  its  enormous  sails 
throwing  shadows  over  the  flowering  clover- 
fields.  Luckily  it  was  not  moving  now,  and 

230 


Night  Brings  Counsel 

looked  like  an  enormous  fly  pinned  on  the  blue 
sky. 

There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind,  and  the  ears  of 
wheat  stood  straight  and  stiff,  like  an  army  of  sol- 
diers. Only  the  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs  was 
to  be  heard,  and  the  woods  of  Liskovina  stretched 
before  them  like  a  never-ending  green  wall. 


The  Third  Devil 


PART  V 


CHAPTER  I. 

MARIA  CZOBOR'S  ROSE,,  THE  PRECIPICE,  AND 
THE  OLD  PEAR-TREE. 

MADAME  KRISBAY  was  very  much  interested  in 
the  neighborhood  they  were  driving  through,  and 
asked  many  questions.  They  passed  a  small 
chapel  in  the  wood,  and  Veronica  explained  that 
a  rich  innkeeper  had  once  been  killed  there  by  rob- 
bers, and  the  bereaved  widow  had  built  this  chapel 
on  the  spot. 

"  Perhaps  out  of  gratitude?"  suggested  Gyuri. 

"  Don't  be  so  horrid,"  exclaimed  Veronica. 

The  Liskovina  Wood  is  quite  like  a  park,  with 
the  exception  that  there  is  not  much  variety  in  the 
way  of  trees,  the  birch,  the  favorite  tree  of  the 
Slovaks,  being  predominant.  But  of  flowers  there 
were  any  amount.  The  ferns  grew  to  a  great 
height,  the  Anthoxantum  had  flowered,  and  in  its 
withered  state  filled  the  whole  wood  with  its  per- 
fume. Among  plants,  as  among  people,  there 
are  some  which  are  only  pleasant  and  agreeable 

235 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


to  others  after  their  death.  What  a  difference 
there  is  in  the  various  kinds  of  plants !  There  is 
the  gladiolus,  the  most  important  part  of  which  is 
the  bulb  it  hides  under  the  earth ;  whoever  eats  it 
dreams  of  the  future. 

Much  simpler  is  the  ox-eye  daisy,  for  it  will  tell 
you  without  any  ceremonies  if  the  person  you  are 
thinking  of  loves  you  very  much,  a  little,  or  not  at 
all ;  you  have  only  to  pull  off  its  snow-white  petals 
one  by  one,  and  the  last  one  tells  you  the  truth. 

The  wild  pink  provides  food  for  the  bee,  the 
lily  serves  as  a  drinking-cup  for  the  birds,  the 
large  dandelion  is  the  see-saw  of  the  butterflies. 
For  the  Liskovina  woods  are  generous,  and  pro- 
vide beds  for  all  kinds  of  insects,  strawberries  for 
children,  nosegays  for  young  girls,  herbs  for  old 
women,  and  the  poisonous  aconite,  which  the 
peasants  in  that  part  called  the  "Wolf-killer." 

Whether  it  ever  caused  the  death  of  a  wolf  is 
doubtful,  for  wolves  have  their  fair  share  of  sense, 
and  probably,  knowing  something  of  botany,  they 
tell  their  cubs :  "  Don't  touch  the  Aconitum  Ly- 
cotinum,  children;  it  is  better  to  eat  meat." 

It  was  delightful  driving  in  the  shady  woods, 
though  Madame  Krisbay  was  alarmed  each  time  a 
squirrel  ran  up  a  tree,  and  was  in  constant  fear  of 
the  robbers  who  had  killed  the  rich  innkeeper. 

"  Why,  that  was  eighty  years  ago,  madame !" 

"Well,  and  their  sons?" 

236 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


She  was  restless  till  they  had  got  clear  of  the 
wood  and  had  come  to  a  large  barren  plain,  with 
here  and  there  a  small  patch  of  oats,  stunted  in 
their  growth. 

But  after  that  they  came  to  another  wood,  the 
far-famed  "  Zelena  Hruska,"  in  the  shape  of  a 
pear.  Supposing  robbers  were  to  turn  up  there ! 

And  Gyuri  was  just  wishing  for  their  appear- 
ance while  madame  was  thinking  with  horror  of 
them.  As  he  sat  face  to  face  with  the  girl,  he  de- 
cided to  marry  her — because  of  the  umbrella. 
The  girl  was  certainly  pretty,  but  even  had  she 
not  been  so,  the  umbrella  was  worth  the  sacrifice. 
St.  Peter  had  told  him  what  to  do,  and  he  would 
follow  his  advice.  Superstition,  at  which  he  had 
laughed  the  day  before,  had  taken  possession  of 
him,  and  made  a  place  for  itself  among  his  more 
rational  thoughts.  He  felt  some  invisible  power 
pushing  him  on  to  take  this  step.  What  power 
was  it?  Probably  St.  Peter,  who  had  advised 
him  in  his  dream  to  take  it.  But  how  was  he  to 
set  to  work  ?  That  was  what  was  troubling  him 
the  whole  time.  How  convenient  it  would  be  if 
there  were  some  romance  nowadays,  as  in  olden 
times  or  in  novels;  for  instance,  if  robbers  were 
now  to  appear  on  the  scene,  and  he  could  shoot 
them  down  one  after  the  other  with  his  revolver, 
and  so  free  Veronica,  who  would  then  turn  to  him 
and  say: 

237. 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  I  am  yours  till  death !" 

But  as  matters  were  at  present,  he  did  not  dare 
to  take  any  steps  in  the  right  direction ;  the  words 
he  had  so  well  prepared  seemed  to  stick  in  his 
throat.  Doubts  arose  in  his  mind ;  supposing  she 
had  not  taken  a  fancy  to  him!  Supposing  she 
were  already  in  love !  She  must  have  seen  other 
men  besides  himself,  and  if  so,  they  must  have 
fallen  in  love  with  her.  Something  ought  to  hap- 
pen to  help  matters  on  a  little. 

But  no  robbers  came,  there  probably  were  none ; 
it  was  a  poor  neighborhood,  nothing  grew  there, 
not  even  a  robber. 

After  they  had  passed  the  wood,  they  saw  an 
old  castle  among  the  trees,  on  the  top  of  a  hill. 
It  was  the  Castle  of  Slatina,  had  formerly  be- 
longed to  the  Czobors,  and  was  now  the  property 
of  the  Princes  of  Coburg. 

They  had  to  stop  at  an  inn  to  feed  the  horses, 
and  Veronica  proposed  their  going  to  look  at  the 
castle,  of  which  an  old  man  had  charge ;  he  would 
show  them  over  it.  The  innkeeper  assured  them 
some  of  the  rooms  were  just  as  the  Czobors  had 
left  them ;  in  the  court  were  a  few  old  cannon,  and 
in  the  house  a  collection  of  curious  old  armor,  and 
some  very  interesting  family  portraits,  among 
them  that  of  a  little  girl,  Katalin  Czobor,  who  had 
disappeared  from  her  home  at  the  age  of  seven. 
Veronica  was  very  interested  in  the  child. 

238 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


"  And  what  happened  to  her  ?"  she  asked. 

"  The  poor  child  has  never  turned  up  to  this 
day !"  sighed  the  innkeeper. 

"  And  when  was  it  she  disappeared  ?" 

"  About  three  hundred  years  ago,"  he  answered 
with  a  smile,  and  then  accompanied  his  guests  up 
the  mountain  path  that  led  to  the  castle. 

They  were  silent  on  their  return,  only  Madame 
Krisbay  remarking: 

"  What  a  mouldy  smell  there  was  in  there!" 

Veronica  had  caught  sight  of  a  beautiful  rose 
on  a  large  bush  near  the  half-ruined  walls  of  the 
bastion. 

"  What  an  exquisite  flower !"  she  exclaimed. 

The  old  caretaker  had  a  legend  about  that  too. 
From  this  spot  beautiful  Maria  Czobor  had 
sprung  from  the  walls,  and  thrown  herself  down 
the  precipice,  for  her  father  wished  her  to  marry 
an  officer  in  the  Emperor's  army,  and  she  was  in 
love  with  a  shepherd.  The  latter  had  planted  a 
rose-bush  on  this  spot,  and  every  year  it  bore  one 
single  blossom.  Gyuri  dropped  behind  the 
others,  and  begged  the  old  man  to  give  him  the 
rose. 

"My  dear  sir,  what  are  you  thinking  of? 
Why,  the  poor  girl's  spirit  would  haunt  me  if  I 
were  to  do  such  a  thing !" 

Gyuri  took  out  his  purse  and  pressed  two  silver 
florins  into  the  man's  hand,  upon  which,  without 

239 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


further  ado,  he  took  out  his  knife  and  cut  the 
rose. 

"  Won't  the  young  lady's  spirit  haunt  you 
now?"  asked  Gyuri,  smiling. 

"  No,  because  with  part  of  the  money  I  will 
have  a  Mass  said  for  the  repose  of  her  soul." 

Gyuri  ran  after  the  ladies  with  the  rose  in  his 
hand,  and  offered  it  to  Veronica. 

"  Here  is  Maria  Czobor's  rose,"  he  said. 
"  Will  you  give  me  your  pink  in  exchange  ?" 

But  she  put  her  hands  behind  her  back,  and  said 
coldly : 

"  How  could  you  have  the  heart  to  pick  it  ?" 

"  I  did  it  for  your  sake.  Will  you  not  ex- 
change ?" 

"  No ;  I  would  not  for  the  world  wear  that 
flower;  I  should  think  I  had  stolen  it  from  that 
poor  girl." 

"  Will  you  really  not  accept  it  ?" 

"No!" 

Gyuri  threw  the  rose  away,  and  it  rolled  down 
the  hillside  in  the  dust  and  dirt. 

Veronica  gazed  pityingly  after  the  flower  as 
long  as  it  was  visible,  then  turned  angrily  to 
Gyuri. 

"  Is  that  the  way  to  treat  a  flower  ?  Had  it 
hurt  you  in  any  way  ?" 

;<  Yes,"  answered  the  lawyer  shortly. 

"Did  it  prick  you?" 

240 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


"  It  informed  me  of  a  very  unpleasant  fact." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  It  whispered  the  continuation  of  my  last 
night's  dream  to  me." 

"  What  a  little  chatterbox !" 

She  turned  her  big  eyes  upon  Gyuri  and  spoke 
in  a  jesting  tone. 

"  I  should  have  had  a  refusal !" 

Veronica  threw  back  her  head,  and  turned  her 
eyes  toward  heaven. 

"  Poor  Mr.  Wibra !"  she  exclaimed.  "  What 
misfortune  to  be  refused  in  a  dream !" 

"  Pray  go  on,  make  as  much  fun  of  it  as  you 
like,"  he  said  bitterly. 

"  And  are  you  sure  you  would  have  been  re- 
fused?" 

"  Yes,  now  I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  answered  sadly. 
"  You  might  guess  now  of  whom  I  dreamed." 

"Of  me?"  she  asked  surprised,  and  the  smile 
died  away  on  her  lips.  "  Of  me  ?"  she  stammered 
again,  then  was  silent,  descending  the  hill  quietly 
in  madame's  wake  with  bent  head.  She  had 
lifted  the  skirt  of  her  dress  a  little  to  prevent  its 
dragging  in  the  dust,  and  her  little  feet  were 
partly  visible  as  she  tripped  along  with  regular 
steps,  treading  on  the  grass  and  flowers,  which, 
however,  were  not  crushed  by  her  footsteps,  but 
rose  again  as  she  passed  on. 

A  tiny  lizard  crossed  their  path,  its  beautiful 

241 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


colors  shining  in  the  sunlight.  But  what  a  sad 
fate  befell  it!  Just  at  that  moment  a  giant  (well 
known  in  Besztercebanya)  came  that  way,  mur- 
muring :  "  Why  should  it  live  ?"  and  bringing 
down  a  heavy  heel  severed  the  poor  lizard's  head 
from  its  body. 

Veronica  just  then  turned  round,  and  saw  the 
cruel  action ;  she  felt  inclined  to  cry  over  the  poor 
lizard,  but  did  not  dare  to  say  anything,  for  she 
herself  began  to  be  afraid  of  this  Goliath,  so  she 
only  murmured  under  her  breath :  "Wretch !" 

When  they  were  farther  down  the  hill  she  saw 
before  her  the  rose  he  had  thrown  away ;  there  it 
lay,  dirty  and  dusty,  among  the  stones  by  the 
roadside,  and,  obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  she  bent 
and  picked  it  up,  blowing  the  dust  off  its  rosy 
petals,  and  then  she  placed  it  in  the  bosom  of  her 
dress,  where  it  seemed  as  though  it  were  in  its 
right  place  at  last.  She  did  not  say  a  word,  nor 
did  she  look  at  that  dreadful  Goliath,  but  turned 
away  her  head,  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face. 
But  Goliath  was  quite  satisfied  at  seeing  the  rose 
where  he  had  wished  it  to  be,  and  out  of  gratitude 
would  have  liked  to  restore  the  lizard  to  life,  but 
that  was  of  course  impossible. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  the  carriage  was  waiting, 
and  the  travellers  took  their  places  again,  this  time 
with  an  uncomfortable  feeling.  Silently  they  sat 
opposite  each  other,  one  looking  to  the  right,  the 

242 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


other  to  the  left,  and  if  their  eyes  happened  to 
meet  they  hastily  turned  them  away.  When  they 
spoke,  their  remarks  were  addressed  to  Madame 
Krisbay,  who  began  to  notice  that  something  had 
happened. 

But  what?  Only  a  few  childish  words  to 
which  their  minds  had  given  a  more  serious  mean- 
ing than  they  were  meant  to  have,  and  had  in- 
creased in  size  as  once  the  professor's  narrow  cell 
in  Hatvan,  which  the  devil  enlarged  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  whole  town  had  place  in  it.  Well, 
in  those  few  words,  everything  was  contained. 

But  now  something  else  happened.  I  don't 
know  how  it  was,  but  I  think  a  pin  dropped,  and 
at  the  same  moment  Veronica  bent  down  as 
though  to  look  for  it.  In  doing  so  the  pink  fell 
out  of  her  hair  into  Gyuri's  lap,  and  he  picked  it 
up  in  order  to  return  it  to  her.  But  she  made 
him  a  sign  to  keep  it. 

"  Lf  it  would  not  stay  in  my  hair,  and  fell  into 
your  lap,  you  may  as  well  keep  it." 

Would  it  not  have  stayed  in  her  hair  ?  Was  it 
quite  an  accident  ?  thought  Gyuri,  as  he  smelt  the 
flower.  What  a  pleasant  odor  it  had!  Was  it 
from  her  hair  ? 

Now  they  were  driving  beside  the  Brana,  the 
far-famed  Brana,  which  quite  shuts  this  part  of 
the  country  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  like 
an  immense  gate.  That  is  why  it  is  called  the 

243 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Brana,  or  gate.  It  is  no  common  mountain,  but 
an  aristocrat  among  its  kind,  and  in  fine  weather 
it  wears  a  hat,  for  its  summit  is  hidden  in  clouds. 
Several  small  streams  make  their  way  down  its 
side,  flowing  together  at  the  foot,  and  making 
one  broad  stream. 

"  That  is  the  Bjela  Voda,"  explained  Veronica 
to  Madame  Krisbay,  "  we  are  not  far  from  home 
now." 

They  still  had  to  drive  through  one  wood,  and 
then  the  little  white  cottages  of  Glogova  would 
be  before  them.  But  this  was  the  worst  bit  of 
the  road,  crooked  and  curved,  full  of  ruts  and 
rocks,  and  so  narrow  that  there  was  hardly  room 
for  the  carriage  to  pass. 

Janos  turned  round  and  said  with  a  shake  of 
his  head : 

"  The  king  himself  would  grow  crooked  here!" 
"  Take  care,  Janos,  that  you  don't  upset  us !" 
Janos  got  down  from  his  seat,  and  fastened  one 
of  the  wheels  firmly,  for  there  was  no  brake  to  the 
carriage;  and  now  the  horses  had  to  move  at  a 
funeral  pace,  and  sometimes  the  road  was  so  nar- 
row between  two  hills  that  they  could  see  nothing 
but  the  blue  sky  above  them. 

"  This  place  is  only  fit  for  birds,"  muttered 
Janos. 

"  Don't  you  like  this  part  of  the  country?" 
"  It  is  like  a  pock-marked  face,"  he  replied. 

244 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


"  It  is  not  the  sort  of  place  one  would  come  to 
to  choose  a  wife." 

Gyuri  started.  Had  the  man  discovered  his  in- 
tentions ? 

"  Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"  My  last  master,  the  baron  (Janos  had  been 
at  some  baron's  before  in  Saros  county),  used  to 
say  to  his  sons,  and  he  was  a  clever  man  too, 
'  Never  look  for  a  wife  in  a  place  where  there  are 
neither  gnats,  good  air,  nor  mineral  springs !' ' 

At  this  both  Veronica  and  Gyuri  were  obliged 
to  laugh. 

"  That's  a  real  Saros  way  of  looking  at  things. 
But,  you  see,  you  have  vexed  this  young  lady." 

"  According  to  your  theory  I  shall  have  to  be 
an  old  maid !"  said  Veronica. 

But  Janos  vigorously  denied  the  possibility  of 
such  a  thing. 

"  Why,  dear  me,  that  is  not  likely;  why  .  .  . 
you- ..." 

He  wanted  to  say  something  complimentary, 
but  could  not  find  suitable  words,  and  as  chance 
would  have  it,  his  next  words  were  nearer  to 
swearing  than  to  a  compliment,  for  the  shaft  of 
the  carriage  broke.  The  ladies  were  alarmed,  and 
Gyuri  jumped  down  from  his  seat  to  see  the  ex- 
tent of  the  damage  done.  It  was  bad  enough,  for 
it  had  broken  off  just  near  the  base. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?"  exclaimed  Janos. 

245 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  I  said  this  place  was  only  fit  for  birds,  who 
neither  walk  nor  drive." 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing  serious,"  said  Gyuri,  who 
at  that  moment  was  not  to  be  put  out  by  a  shaft, 
nor  by  a  hundred  shafts. 

"  Give  me  your  axe,  and  you  go  and  hold  the 
horses.  I'll  soon  bring  you  something  to  fasten 
the  shaft  to,  and  strengthen  it." 

He  took  the  axe  out  of  the  tool-box  under  the 
coachman's  seat,  said  a  few  words  to  reassure  the 
ladies,  and  then  jumped  the  ditch  by  the  side  of 
the  road. 

There  were  some  trees  there,  but  they  were  as 
rare  as  the  hairs  on  the  head  of  an  old  man.  First 
came  a  birch,  then  a  hazelnut  bush,  then  a  black- 
thorn, then  a  bare  piece  of  ground  without  any 
trees,  and  then  again  a  few  old  trees.  So  it  was 
rather  difficult  to  find  a  suitable  tree ;  one  was  too 
big,  another  too  small ;  so  Gyuri  went  on  and  on 
in  search  of  one,  and  got  so  far  that  soon  the  car- 
riage was  out  of  sight,  and  only  Veronica's  red 
sunshade  was  to  be  seen  in  the  distance,  like  a 
large  mushroom.  At  length  his  eyes  fell  on  a 
young  birch,  which  grew  near  to  a  small  precipice. 
It  was  too  big  for  a  seedling  and  too  small  for  a 
tree,  but  well-grown  and  promising.  All  the 
same  it  must  be  sacrificed,  and  down  came  the  axe. 

But  hardly  had  two  or  three  blows  been  struck, 
when  a  voice  was  heard,  crying  out : 

246 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


"RetalReta!"  (Help!  Help!) 

Gyuri  started  and  turned  round.  Who  had 
called  ?  The  voice  seemed  quite  close,  but  no  one 
was  visible  far  and  near. 

Again  the  call  for  help  was  repeated,  and  now 
it  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  earth,  and  Gyuri 
immediately  concluded  it  came  from  the  precipice, 
and  ran  toward  it. 

"  Here  I  am !"  he  called  out.  "  Where  are  you 
and  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"I  am  down  the  precipice,"  was  the  answer; 
"  help  me,  for  God's  sake !" 

Gyuri  looked  down,  and  saw  a  figure  there  in 
a  black  coat,  but  he  could  not  see  much  of  it,  for 
it  would  have  been  dangerous  to  have  gone  too 
near  to  the  edge. 

"  How  did  you  manage  to  get  down  there  ?" 

"  I  fell  in  yesterday  evening,"  answered  the 
man  in  the  black  coat. 

"  What !  Yesterday  evening !  And  can't  you 
get  out?" 

"  It  is  impossible,  for  there  is  nothing  to  hold 
on  to,  and  if  I  catch  hold  of  any  projecting  bits, 
they  give  way,  and  I  fall  back  with  them." 

"  You  are  in  a  bad  way  altogether !  And  has 
no  one  passed  here  since  then  ?" 

"  No  one  comes  this  way.  I  was  prepared  for 
the  worst  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  blows  in  the 
neighborhood.  Thank  God  you  came!  Help 

247 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


me  if  you  can,  good  man,  whoever  you  may  be, 
and  I  will  reward  you !" 

"  I  will  help  you  of  course  with  the  greatest 
pleasure,  but  I  must  think  first  how  to  manage  it. 
If  I  let  down  the  trunk  of  a  small  tree  could  you 
climb  up  it?" 

"  I  am  very  weak  from  want  of  sleep  and  from 
hunger,"  answered  the  man,  his  voice  getting 
weaker  from  shouting. 

"  Poor  fellow !     Wait  a  moment !" 

He  had  suddenly  remembered  the  apples  Mrs. 
Mravucsan  had  put  in  his  pockets  that  morning. 

"  Hallo,  there !  Look  out !  I  am  going  to 
throw  down  a  few  apples  to  go  on  with  while  I 
think  over  what  I  am  to  do." 

He  took  the  apples  out  of  his  pockets,  and  rolled 
them  down  one  after  the  other. 

All  of  a  sudden  he  remembered  that  Veronica's 
was  among  them.  Supposing  she  were  vexed  at 
his  giving  it  away ! 

"  Have  you  got  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

"  Please  don't  eat  the  red  one,  it  is  not  mine." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  not  eat  it." 

"  You  seem  to  be  of  the  better  class  ?" 

"  I  am  the  parish  priest  of  Glogova." 

Gyuri,  surprised,  fell  a  step  backward.  How 
strange!  The  parish  priest  of  Glogova!  Could 
anything  more  unexpected  have  happened? 

248 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


"  I  will  get  you  out,  your  reverence ;  only  wait 
a  few  minutes." 

Back  he  ran  to  the  carriage,  which  was  waiting 
in  the  valley  below.  From  this  point  the  country 
round  about  looked  like  the  inside  of  a  poppy  head 
cut  in  two.  He  did  not  go  quite  up  to  the  car- 
riage, but  as  soon  as  he  was  within  speaking  dis- 
tance, shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice  to  Janos : 

"  Take  the  harness  off  the  horses,  and  bring  it 
here  to  me ;  but  first  tie  the  horses  to  a  tree." 

Janos  obeyed,  grumbling  and  shaking  his  head. 
He  could  not  make  out  what  his  master  needed 
the  harness  for.  He  had  once  heard  a  wonderful 
tale  of  olden  times,  in  which  a  certain  Fatepo 
Gabor  (tree-felling  Gabor)  had  harnessed  two 
bears  to  a  cart  in  a  forest.  Could  Gyuri  be  going 
to  do  the  same  ? 

But  whatever  it  was  wanted  for,  he  did  as  his 
master  told  him,  and  followed  him  to  the  preci- 
pice. Here  they  fastened  the  various  straps  to- 
gether, and  let  them  down. 

"  Catch  hold  of  them,  your  reverence,"  called 
out  Gyuri,  "  and  we  will  pull  you  up." 

The  priest  did  as  Gyuri  said,  but  even  then  it 
was  hard  work  to  get  him  up,  for  the  ground  kept 
giving  way  under  his  feet;  however,  at  length 
they  managed  it. 

But  what  a  state  he  was  in,  covered  with  dirt 
and  dust ;  on  his  face  traces  of  the  awful  night  he 

249 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


had  passed,  sleepless  and  despairing,  suffering  the 
pangs  of  hunger.  He  hardly  looked  like  a  human 
being,  and  we  (that  is,  my  readers  and  I)  who 
knew  him  years  before  would  have  looked  in  vain 
for  the  handsome,  youthful  face  we  remember. 
He  was  an  elderly  man  now,  with  streaks  of  gray 
in  his  chestnut  hair.  Only  the  pleasant,  amiable 
expression  in  his  thin  face  was  the  same.  He 
was  surprised  to  see  such  a  well-dressed  young 
man  before  him — a  rarity  on  the  borders  of  the 
Glogova  woods. 

"  How  can  I  show  you  my  gratitude  ?"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  a  certain  pathos  which  reminded 
one  strongly  of  the  pulpit.  ^ 

He  took  a  few  steps  in  the  direction  of  the 
stream,  intending  to  wash  his  hands  and  face,  but 
he  stumbled  and  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  his  back. 

"  I  must  have  hurt  myself  last  night,  when  I 
fell,  I  cannot  walk  very  well." 

"  Lean  on  me,  your  reverence,"  said  Gyuri. 
"  Luckily  my  carriage  is  not  far  off.  Janos,  you 
go  on  cutting  down  that  tree,  while  we  walk 
slowly  on." 

They  certainly  did  go  slowly,  for  the  priest 
could  hardly  lift  his  left  foot,  and  frequently 
stumbled  over  the  roots  of  trees.  The  carriage 
was  some  way  off,  so  they  had  plenty  of  time  for 
conversation,  and  every  now  and  then  they  sat 
down  to  rest  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree. 

250  ' 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


"  Tell  me,  your  reverence,  how  did  you  come 
to  be  in  this  part  of  the  country  late  at  night  ?" 

And  then  the  priest  related  how  he  had  ex- 
pected his  sister  home  yesterday,  who  had  gone 
to  meet  her  governess.  As  time  went  on,  and 
there  were  no  signs  of  them,  he  began  to  feel 
anxious,  and  toward  evening  became  so  restless 
that  he  did  as  he  had  often  done  before,  and 
walked  to  the  borders  of  the  little  wood.  He 
walked  on  and  on,  finding  the  way  by  keeping  his 
eye  on  the  hills  on  both  sides,  and  listened  for  the 
sounds  of  wheels  in  the  distance.  All  at  once  it 
occurred  to  him  that  they  might  have  gone  round 
by  the  Pribalszky  mill,  which  was  a  longer  but 
prettier  way  to  Glogova,  and  Veronica,  his  sister, 
was  fond  of  the  shade  there.  Of  course  that  was 
what  they  had  done,  and  they  must  have  arrived 
at  home  long  ago  while  he  was  looking  for  them. 
So  the  best  way  was  to  turn  back  at  once,  and  in 
order  to  get  home  as  soon  as  possible,  he  unfor- 
tunately struck  across  a  side  path.  In  his  haste 
he  must  have  stepped  too  near  to  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  and  had  fallen  in. 

"  My  poor  little  sister !"  he  sighed.  "  How 
anxious  she  must  be  about  me !" 

Gyuri  would  have  liked  to  turn  the  priest's  sor- 
row into  joy. 

"  We  will  soon  reassure  the  young  lady,  and 
your  reverence  will  feel  all  right  after  a  night's 

251 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


rest.  In  two  or  three  days  it  will  seem  like  an 
amusing  incident." 

"  But  which  might  have  ended  in  a  horrible 
death  if  Divine  Providence  had  not  sent  you  to 
help  me." 

"  It  really  does  seem  as  though  Divine  Provi- 
dence had  something  to  do  with  it.  The  shaft  of 
my  carriage  broke,  or  I  should  never  have  come 
near  that  precipice." 

"  If  I  live  to  be  a  hundred  I  shall  never  forget 
your  kindness  to  me,  and  your  name  will  always 
have  a  place  in  my  prayers.  But  how  thoughtless 
of  me!  I  have  not  even  asked  you  your  name 
yet." 

"  Gyuri  Wibra."  . 

"The  well-known  lawyer  of  Besztercebanya? 
And  so  young !  I  am  glad  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  such  an  honorable  man,  sir,  who  is  beloved 
in  the  whole  of  Besztercebanya;  but  I  should  be 
much  more  pleased  if  a  poor  man  now  stood  be- 
fore me,  to  whom  I  could  give  a  suitable  reward. 
But  how  am  I  to  prove  my  gratitude  to  you? 
There  is  nothing  I  possess  which  you  would  ac- 
cept." 

A  smile  played  around  Gyuri's  mouth. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  You  know  we  law- 
yers are  very  grasping." 

"  Is  there  really  something,  or  are  you  jok- 
ing?" 

252 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


The  lawyer  did  not  answer  immediately,  but 
walked  on  a  few  steps  toward  an  old  wild  pear- 
tree,  which  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  and  not 
far  from  which  the  carriage  was  standing. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  answered  then,  slowly,  almost 
in  a  trembling  voice,  "  there  is  something  I 
would  gladly  accept  from  you." 

"  And  what  is  it  ?" 

"  It  has  just  struck  me  that  there  is  something 
in  my  carriage  which  you  might  give  me." 

"  In  your  carriage  ?" 

"  Yes,  something  you  do  not  know  of  yet,  and 
which  I  should  be  very  happy  to  possess." 

The  priest  took  him  by  the  hand. 

"  Whatever  it  may  be,  it  is  yours !" 

In  another  minute  they  had  reached  the  pear- 
tree. 

"  There  is  my  carriage." 

The  priest  looked  that  way,  and  saw,  first  a  red 
sunshade,  then  a  black  straw  hat  under  it,  with 
some  white  daisies  in  it,  and  beneath  it  a  sweet, 
girlish  face.  It  all  seemed  so  familiar  to  him, 
the  sunshade,  the  hat,  and  the  face.  He  rubbed 
his  eyes  as  though  awaking  from  a  dream,  and 
then  exclaimed,  catching  hold  of  the  lawyer's 
arm: 

"  Why,  that  is  my  Veronica !" 

The  lawyer  smiled  quietly  and  bowed. 

"  That  is,"  went  on  the  priest  in  his  kind,  gentle 

253 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


voice,  "  for  the  future  she  is  your  Veronica,  if  you 
wish." 

By  this  time  Veronica  had  seen  and  recognized 
her  brother,  had  jumped  out  of  the  carriage  and 
run  to  meet  him,  calling  out : 

"  Here  we  are,  safe  and  sound.  How  anxious 
you  must  have  been !  And  our  carriage  is  broken 
to  bits ;  and  oh !  if  you  had  only  seen  the  horses ! 
All  sorts  of  things  have  happened,  and  I  have 
brought  Madame  Krisbay." 

The  priest  embraced  her,  and  was  glad  she 
seemed  to  know  nothing  of  his  accident.  How 
sensible  of  Gyuri  not  to  have  mentioned  it ! 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  darling,  you  shall  tell  me  every- 
thing in  order  later  on." 

But  Veronica  wanted  to  tell  everything  at  once, 
the  carriage  accident  in  Babaszek,  the  supper  at 
Mravucsans'  (oh,  yes!  she  had  nearly  forgotten, 
Mr.  Mravucsan  had  sent  his  kind  regards),  then 
to-day's  journey,  the  loss  of  her  earring  and  its 
recovery  .  .  . 

The  priest,  who  was  slowly  beginning  to  under- 
stand things,  here  broke  in  upon  her  recital. 

"  And  did  you  give  the  finder  of  it  a  reward  ?" 

SHe  was  silent  at  first  at  the  unexpected  ques- 
tion, then  answered  hurriedly: 

"  No,  of  course  not,  how  can  you  think  of  such 
a  thing?  What  was  I  to  give?  Besides,  he 
would  not  accept  anything." 

254 


Maria  Czobor's  Rose 


"  I  am  surprised  at  that,  for  he  has  since  then 
applied  to  me  for  a  reward." 

"  Impossible !"  said  Veronica,  casting  a  side- 
glance  at  Gyuri.  Strange  doubts  had  arisen  in 
her  mind,  and  her  heart  began  to  beat. 

"  And  what  does  he  ask  for  ?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  He  wants  a  good  deal.  He  asks  for  the  ear- 
ring he  foundj  and  with  it  its  owner.  And  I 
have  promised  him  both !" 

Veronica  bent  her  head;  her  face  was  suffused 
with  burning  blushes,  her  bosom  heaved. 

"Well?  Do  you  give  no  answer?  Did  I  do 
right  to  promise,  Veronica  ?" 

Gyuri  took  a  step  toward  her,  and  said,  in  a 
low,  pleading  voice : 

"  Only  one  word,  Miss  Veronica!"  then  stood 
back  under  the  shade  of  the  pear-tree. 

"  Oh !  I  am  so  ashamed !"  said  Veronica  trem- 
bling,, and  bursting  into  tears. 

A  breeze  came  up  just  then  across  the  Brana, 
and  shook  the  pear-tree,  which  shed  its  white 
petals,  probably  the  last  the  old  tree  would  bear, 
over  Veronica's  dress. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THREE     SPARKS. 

MADAME  sits  in  the  carriage,  and  can  under- 
stand nothing  of  what  is  going  on.  The  young 
lady  entrusted  to  her  charge  springs  out  of  the 
carriage,  runs  up  to  a  strange  man  in  a  long  black 
coat,  throws  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  then 
they  all  begin  to  talk  with  excited  gestures,  stand- 
ing under  the  pear-tree.  Then  her  pupil  comes 
back  to  the  carriage,  mild  as  a  lamb,  arm  in  arm 
with  the  young  man  who  had  found  her  earring 
yesterday.  All  of  this  is  so  unexpected,  so  sur- 
prising. And  while  they  are  mending  the  broken 
shaft  and  reharnessing  the  horses,  the  man  in 
the  black  coat,  who  turns  out  to  be  the  girl's 
brother,  turns  to  her  and  whispers  in  her  ear : 
"  Your  pupil  has  just  engaged  herself!" 
Good  gracious!  When  and  where?  Why, 
now,  under  the  tree !  Ah,  Madame  Krisbay,  you 
feel  you  ought  to  faint  now,  partly  because  you 
are  a  correct  woman,  and  consequently  horrified 
at  the  way  the  event  has  taken  place,  and  partly 
because  you  have  fallen  among  such  strange  peo- 

256 


Three  Sparks 


pie ;  but  your  bottle  of  Eau  de  Cologne  is  quite  at 
the  bottom  of  your  travelling-bag,  and  so  it  will  be 
better  not  to  faint  now.  But  it  is  very  shocking 
all  the  same!  For  though  a  tree  is  suitable  for 
flirting  under,  or  for  declarations  of  love,  it  is  not 
the  correct  place  to  ask  a  parent  or  guardian  for  a 
girl's  hand.  The  proper  place  for  that  (espe- 
cially in  novels)  is  a  well-furnished  drawing- 
room.  If  the  girl  is  very  shy  she  runs  out  of  the 
room ;  if  not  very  shy  she  falls  on  her  knees  and 
asks  the  blessing  of  her  parents  or  guardian,  as 
the  case  may  be.  But  how  is  one  to  kneel  under 
a  tree?  These  were  the  thoughts  that  were 
troubling  Madame  Krisbay,  not  Veronica.  She, 
on  the  contrary,  was  thinking  that  one  fine  day 
she  would  return  to  this  spot  with  her  sketch- 
book, and  draw  the  old  tree  as  a  souvenir. 

All  this  time  the  carriage  was  rolling  along 
the  dusty  road.  There  was  no  room  for  the 
coachman,  so  he  had  to  follow  on  foot,  and  Gyuri 
took  the  reins  into  his  own  hands,  Veronica  sitting 
on  the  box  beside  him.  Oh  dear!  she  thought, 
what  would  they  think  of  her  in  the  village  as 
they  drove  through  ? 

The  road  was  better  now,  and  they  could  drive 
faster,  so  Gyuri  loosened  the  reins,  and  began  to 
think  over  the  events  that  had  taken  place.  Was 
it  a  dream  or  not  ?  No,  it  could  not  be,  for  there 
was  Veronica  sitting  near  to  him,  and  behind  him 

257 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Father  Janos  was  talking  to  Madame  Krisbay  in 
the  language  of  the  Gauls.  No,  it  was  simple 
truth,  though  it  seemed  stranger  than  fiction. 
Who  would  have  believed  yesterday  that  before 
the  sun  set  twice  he  would  find  his  inheritance, 
and  a  wife  into  the  bargain  ?  Twenty-four  hours 
ago  he  had  not  known  of  the  existence  of  Miss 
Veronica  Belyi.  Strange!  And  now  he  was 
trying  to  imagine  what  the  world  had  been  like 
without  her.  It  seemed  impossible  that  he  had 
not  felt  the  want  of  her  yesterday.  But  the 
wheels  were  making  such  a  noise,  that  he  found  it 
difficult  to  collect  his  thoughts.  Wonders  had 
happened.  One  legend,  that  of  the  umbrella,  was 
done  away  with,  but  on  its  ruins  another  had  built 
itself  up.  Heaven  and  earth  had  combined  to 
help  him  to  his  inheritance.  Heaven  had  sent  a 
dream  and  earth  a  protector. 

His  heart  swelled  as  he  thought  of  it.  Oh,  if 
the  girl  next  him  only  knew  to  what  a  rich  man 
she  had  promised  her  hand ! 

After  passing  the  Kopanyicza  Hills,  which 
seem  like  a  screen  to  the  entrance  of  the  valley, 
Glogova,  with  its  little  white  houses,  lay  before 
them. 

"  We  are  nearly  at  home  now,"  said  Veronica. 

"  Where  is  the  Presbytery  ?"  asked  Gyuri. 

"  At  the  end  of  the  village." 

"  Tell  me  when  to  turn  to  the  right  or  the  left." 

258 


Three  Sparks 


"  Very  well,  Mr.  Coachman !  At  present  keep 
straight  on." 

A  smell  of  lavender  pervaded  the  street,  and 
the  tidy  little  gardens  were  filled  with  all  sorts  of 
flowers.  In  front  of  the  houses  children  were 
playing,  and  in  most  of  the  courtyards  a  foal  was 
running  about,  with  a  bell  tied  round  its  neck. 
Otherwise  the  village  seemed  quite  deserted,  for 
all  who  could  work  were  out  in  the  fields,  and  the 
women,  having  cooked  the  dinner  at  home,  had 
carried  it  out  to  their  husbands.  Only  on  the 
grass-plot  in  front  of  the  school-house  was  there 
life;  there  the  children  were  at  play,  and  their 
greetings  to  those  in  the  carriage  was  in  Hun- 
garian. 

Of  the  villagers  only  the  "  aristocratic  "  were 
at  home.  At  the  threshold  of  a  pretty  little  stone 
house  stood  Gongoly,  much  stouter  than  some 
years  before.  In  front  of  the  smithy  sat  Klinc- 
sok,  quietly  smoking,  while  the  smith  mended  a 
wheel. 

"  Hallo !"  he  called  out.  "  So  you've  come 
back!  Why,  we  were  thinking  of  looking  out 
for  another  priest !"  Which  showed  that  Father 
Janos'  absence  had  been  noticed. 

How  Glogova  had  changed  in  the  last  few 
years !  There  was  a  tower  to  the  church,  the  like 
of  which  was  not  to  be  seen  except  in  Losoncz; 
only  that  on  the  tower  of  Losoncz  there  was  a 

259 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


weathercock.  In  the  middle  of  the  village  was 
a  hotel,  "  The  Miraculous  Umbrella,"  with  Vir- 
ginian creeper  climbing  all  over  it,  and  near  it  a 
pretty  little  white  house,  looking  as  though  it  were 
made  of  sugar;  behind  it  a  garden  with  a  lot  of 
young  trees  in  it. 

"  Whose  house  is  that  ?"  asked  Gyuri,  turning 
round. 

"  The  owner  is  on  the  box-seat  beside  you." 

"  Really?     Is  it  yours,  Veronica?" 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"  There  is  a  small  farm  belonging  to  it,"  said 
Father  Janos  modestly. 

"  Well,  we  won't  take  it  with  us,  but  leave  it 
here  for  your  brother,  shall  we,  Veronica?" 

Then  he  turned  to  the  priest  again,  saying : 

"  Veronica  has  a  fortune  worthy  of  a  countess, 
but  neither  you  nor  she  knows  of  it." 

Both  the  priest  and  Veronica  were  so  surprised 
at  this  announcement,  that  they  did  not  notice 
they  were  in  front  of  the  Presbytery,  and  Gyuri 
would  have  driven  on  if  Visztula,  the  old  watch- 
dog, had  not  rushed  out  barking  with  joy;  and 
old  Widow  Adamecz  called  out,  with  the  tears 
rolling  down  her  face : 

"  Holy  Mary !  you  have  heard  the  prayers  of 
your  servant !" 

"Stop!  here  we  are.  Open  the  gate,  Mrs. 
Adamecz." 

260 


Three  Sparks 


The  widow  wiped  away  her  tears,  dropped  her 
book,  and  got  up  to  open  the  gate. 

"  Is  dinner  ready  ?"  asked  Father  Janos. 

"  Dinner  ?  Of  course  not.  Whom  was  I  to 
cook  for?  We  all  thought  your  reverence  was 
lost.  I  have  not  even  lighted  the  fire,  for  my 
tears  would  only  have  put  it  out  again." 

"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Adamecz.  I  feel  sure  you 
were  anxious  on  my  account,  but  now  go  and  see 
about  some  dinner  for  us,  for  we  are  dying  of 
hunger." 

Veronica  had  become  suspicious  at  the  widow's 
words,  and  began  to  storm  her  brother  with  ques- 
tions ;  then  burst  out  crying  and  turned  her  back 
upon  Gyuri,  declaring  they  were  hiding  some- 
thing from  her.  So  they  were  obliged  to  tell  her 
the  truth,  and  her  poor  little  heart  nearly  broke 
when  she  thought  of  what  her  brother  had  gone 
through,  and  what  danger  he  had  been  in. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Mrs.  Adamecz  was 
bustling  about  in  the  kitchen,  and  giving  every 
one  plenty  of  work  to  do.  Both  the  maids  were 
called  in  to  help,  and  the  farm-servant  too. 

"  Come  and  whip  this  cream,  Hanka.  And  you, 
Borbala,  go  and  fetch  some  salt.  Is  the  goose 
plucked?  Now,  Matyas,  don't  be  so  lazy,  run 
and  pick  some  parsley  in  the  garden.  Dear  me ! 
How  very  thin  the  good  lady  is  whom  Miss  Ve- 
ronica has  brought  home  with  her.  Did  you  see 

261 


St.    Peter's   Umbrella 


her?  I  shall  have  hard  work  to  feed  her  up  and 
make  her  decently  fat.  Give  me  a  saucepan ;  not 
that  one,  the  other.  And,  Borbala,  grate  me 
some  bread-crumbs.  But  the  young  man  is  hand- 
some. I  wonder  what  he  wants  here?  What 
did  you  say  ?  You  don't  know  ?  Of  course  you 
don't  know,  silly,  if  I  don't.  But  this  much  is 
certain  (between  ourselves  of  course),  there  is 
something  strange  in  Miss  Veronica's  eyes. 
Something  has  happened,  but  I  can't  make  out 
what." 

Widow  Adamecz  thought  of  all  sorts  of  things, 
both  good  and  bad,  but  her  cooking  was  excellent, 
and  she  gave  them  such  a  dinner,  that  even  the 
lovers  found  their  appetites. 

After  dinner,  Gyuri  sent  a  man  on  horseback 
with  a  letter  to  Mr.  Sztolarik  in  Besztercebanya. 

"  MY  DEAR  GUARDIAN  : 

"  I  have  great  things  to  communicate  to  you, 
but  at  present  can  only  write  the  outlines.  I  have 
found  the  umbrella,  partly  through  Mrs.  Miincz, 
partly  by  chance.  At  present  I  am  in  Glogova,  at 
the  priest's  house,  whose  sister  Veronica  I  have 
asked  in  marriage.  She  is  a  very  pretty  girl ;  be- 
sides, there  is  no  way  of  getting  at  the  money  un- 
less I  marry  her.  Please  send  me  by  the  messenger 
two  gold  rings  from  Samuel  Huszak's  shop,  and 

262 


Three  Sparks 


the  certificate  of  my  birth ;  it  must  be  among  your 
papers  somewhere.  I  should  like  the  banns  to 
be  published  the  day  after  to-morrow. 

"  I  remain,"  etc. 

He  told  tHe  messenger  to  hurry. 

"  I'll  hurry,  but  the  horse  won't !" 

"  Well,  use  your  spurs." 

"  So  I  would,  but  there  are  no  spurs  on 
sandals !" 

The  horse  was  a  wretched  one,  but  all  the  same, 
next  day  they  heard  a  carriage  stop  at  the  door, 
and  who  should  get  out  but  Sztolarik  himself. 
Great  man  though  he  was,  no  one  was  glad  to  see 
him  except  the  priest.  Veronica  felt  frightened. 
She  hardly  knew  why,  but  it  seemed  as  though  a 
breath  of  cold  air  had  entered  with  him.  Why 
had  he  come  here  just  now? 

The  old  lawyer  was  very  pleasant  to  her. 

"  So  this  is  little  Veronica?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gyuri  proudly. 

The  old  gentleman  took  her  small  hand  in  his 
large  one,  and  pinched  her  cheek  in  fatherly 
fashion.  But  no  amount  of  pinching  would 
bring  the  roses  back  just  then.  Her  heart  was 
heavy  with  fear.  Why,  oh,  why  had  he  come  ? 

Gyuri  was  surprised  too,  for  Sztolarik  hated  to 
leave  his  home. 

"  Have  you  brought  them?"  he  asked. 

263 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


(     "  Yes." 

Veronica  drew  a  breath  of  relief,  for  Gyuri  had 
mentioned  that  he  expected  the  engagement  rings 
from  Besztercebanya. 

"  Give  them  to  me,"  he  said. 

"  Later  on,"  answered  the  old  lawyer.  "  First 
of  all  I  must  speak  to  you." 

He  must  speak  to  him  first?  Then  he  must 
have  something  to  say  which  could  not  be  said 
after  they  had  exchanged  rings !  Veronica  again 
felt  a  weight  on  her  heart.  Gyuri  got  up  dis- 
contentedly from  his  place  next  to  Veronica, 
whose  fingers  began  to  play  nervously  with  the 
work  she  had  in  her  hands. 

"  Come  across  to  my  room  then." 

Gyuri's  room  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  house, 
which  was  built  in  the  shape  of  an  L.  It  used  to 
be  the  schoolroom  before  the  new  school  was  built. 
(Widow  Adamecz  had  learnt  her  ABC  there.) 
The  priest  who  had  been  there  before  Father 
Janos  had  divided  the  room  into  two  parts  by  a 
nicely  painted  wooden  partition,  and  of  one  half 
he  had  made  a  spare  bedroom,  of  the  other  a  store- 
room. 

Veronica  was  feeling  as  miserable  as  she  could, 
and  her  one  wish  at  that  moment  was  to  hear  the 
two  gentlemen's  conversation,  for  everything  de- 
pended on  that.  Some  demon  who  had  evidently 
never  been  to  school,  and  had  never  learned  that  it 

264 


Three  Sparks 


was  dishonorable  to  listen  at  doors  or  walls,  whis- 
pered to  her : 

"  Run  quickly,  Veronica,  into  the  storeroom, 
and  if  you  press  your  ear  to  the  wall,  you  will  be 
able  to  hear  what  they  say." 

Off  went  Veronica  like  a  shot.  It  is  incredi- 
ble what  an  amount  of  honey  a  demon  of  that  de- 
scription can  put  into  his  words ;  he  was  capable  of 
persuading  this  well-educated  girl  to  take  her 
place  among  the  pickled  cucumbers,  basins  of  lard, 
and  sacks  of  potatoes,  in  order  to  listen  to  a  con- 
versation which  was  not  meant  for  her  ears. 

Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  in  the  storeroom 
but  the  dripping  of  the  fat  from  a  side  of  bacon 
hanging  from  the  rafters,  and  which  the  great 
heat  there  was  causing  it  to  melt.  Some  of  it  even 
fell  on  her  pretty  dress,  but  what  did  she  care  for 
that  just  then  ? 

"  So  you  have  found  out  all  about  the  um- 
brella," she  heard  Sztolarik  say,  "  but  have  you 
seen  it  yet?" 

"Why  should  I?"  asked  Gyuri.  "I  cannot 
touch  its  contents  till  after  the  wedding." 

"Why  not  sooner?" 

"  Because,  for  various  reasons,  I  do  not  wish 
the  story  of  the  umbrella  known." 

"  For  instance?" 

"  First  of  all,  because  Father  Janos  would  be 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  place." 

265 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  Why  do  you  trouble  your  head  about  the 
priest?" 

"  Secondly,  because  it  would  give  Veronica  rea- 
son to  think  I  am  only  marrying  her  for  the  sake 
of  the  umbrella." 

"  But  she  will  know  it  later  on  in  any  case." 

"  I  shall  never  tell  her." 

"  Have  you  any  other  reasons  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  dare  say  they  would  not  even  give 
me  the  check ;  it  is  probably  not  made  out  in  any 
particular  name;  so  how  am  I  to  prove  to  them 
that  it  is  mine?  It  really  belongs  to  the  person 
who  has  it  in  his  possession.  And  perhaps  they 
would  not  even  give  me  the  girl,  for  if  her  fortune 
is  as  large  as  we  think  it,  she  can  find  as  many 
husbands  as  she  has  fingers  on  her  hands." 

Veronica  felt  giddy.  It  was  as  though  they 
were  driving  nails  into  her  flesh.  She  could  not 
quite  understand  all  they  were  talking  about — 
of  umbrellas,  receipts,  large  fortunes.  What 
fortune?  But  this  much  she  had  begun  to  un- 
derstand, that  she  was  only  the  means  to  some 
end. 

"  Well,  well,"  began  Sztolarik  again  after  a 
short  pause,  "  the  affair  seems  to  be  pretty  en- 
tangled at  present,  but  there  is  still  worse  to 
come." 

"  What  more  can  come  ?"  asked  Gyuri  in  an  un- 
certain voice. 

266 


Three  Sparks 


"  Don't  do  anything  at  present.  Let  us  find 
out  first  of  all  whether  you  love  the  girl." 

Poor  little  Veronica  was  trembling  like  a  leaf 
in  her  hiding-place.  She  shut  her  eyes  like  a 
criminal  before  his  execution,  with  a  sort  of  unde- 
fined feeling  that  the  blow  would  be  less  painful 
so.  What  would  he  answer  ? 

"  I  think  I  love  her,"  answered  Gyuri,  again  in 
that  uncertain  voice.  "  She  is  so  pretty,  don't 
you  think  so  ?" 

"  Of  course.  But  the  question  is,  would  you 
in  other  circumstances  have  asked  her  to  marry 
you?  Answer  frankly !" 

"  I  should  never  have  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

A  sob  was  heard  in  the  next  room,  and  then  a 
noise  as  though  some  pieces  of  furniture  had  been 
thrown  down. 

Sztolarik  listened  for  a  few  moments,  arid  then, 
pointing  to  the  wall,  asked : 

"  Do  you  know  what  is  on  the  other  side  ?," 

"  I  think  it  is  the  storeroom." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  sob." 

"  Perhaps  one  of  the  servants  saw  a  mouse !" 

And  that  is  how  a  tragedy  looks  from  the  next 
room  when  the  wall  is  thin.  If  there  is  a  thick 
wall  it  does  not  even  seem  so  bad.  One  of  the 
servants  had  seen  a  mouse,  or  a  heart  had  been 
broken;  for  who  was  to  know  that  despair  and 
fright  only  have  one  sound  to  express  them  ? 

267 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Veronica,  with  her  illusions  dispersed,  ran  out 
into  the  open  air;  she  wished  to  hear  no  more, 
only  to  get  away  from  that  hated  place,  for  she 
felt  suffocating;  away,  away,  as  far  as  she  could 
go.  .  .  .  And  this  all  seemed,  from  the  next 
room,  as  though  Widow  Adamecz  or  Hanka  had 
seen  a  mouse.  But,  however  it  may  have  seemed 
to  them,  they  had  forgotten  the  whole  thing  in 
half  a  minute. 

"  You  say  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  you 
to  marry  her.  So  you  had  better  not  hurry  with 
the  wedding.  Let  us  first  see  the  umbrella  and 
its  contents,  and  then  we  shall  see  what  is  to  be 
done  next." 

Gyuri  went  on  quietly  smoking  his  cigarette 
and  thought : 

"  Sztolarik  is  getting  old.  Fancy  making  such 
a  fuss  about  it!" 

"  I  have  thought  it  well  over,"  he  went  on 
aloud,  "  and  there  is  no  other  way  of  managing  it ; 
I  must  marry  the  girl." 

Sztolarik  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  came  and 
stood  in  front  of  the  young  man,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  him. 

"  But  supposing  you  could  get  at  your  inherit- 
ance without  marrying  Veronica?" 

Gyuri  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  Why,  I  have  just  said,"  he  exclaimed  im- 
patiently, "  that  it  cannot  be  done,  but  even  if  it 

268 


Three  Sparks 


could,  I  would  not  dp  it,  for  I  feel  as  though  she 
also  had  a  right  to  the  fortune,  as  it  has  been  in 
her  possession  so  long,  and  Providence  seems  to 
have  sent  it  direct  to  her." 

"  But  supposing  you  could  get  at  it  through  Ve- 
ronica ?" 

"  That  seems  out  of  the  question  too." 

"  Really?  Well,  now  listen  to  me,  Gyuri,  for 
I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  I  am  listening." 

But  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  as  he 
drummed  on  the  table  with  his  fingers. 

"  Well,"  went  on  Sztolarik,  "  when  I  went  in  to 
Huszak's  this  morning  to  buy  the  two  rings  you 
wanted  sent  by  the  messenger  (for  I  had  no  in- 
tention of  coming  here  myself  then),  Huszak  was 
not  in  the  shop,  so  the  rabbit-mouthed  young  man 
waited  on  me.  You  know  him  ?" 

Yes,  Gyuri  remembered  him. 
.  "  I  told  him  to  give  me  two  rings,  and  he  asked 
whom  they  were  for.  So  I  said  they  were  going 
a  good  distance.  Then  he  asked  where  to,  and  I 
told  him  to  Glogova.  '  Perhaps  to  the  priest's 
sister  ?'  he  asked.  '  Yes/  I  said.  '  She's  a  beauty,' 
he  remarked.  '  Why,  do  you  know  her  ?'  asked 
I.  '  Very  well/  he  answered." 

Gyuri  stopped  tapping,  and  jumped  up  ex- 
citedly. 

"  Did  he  say  anything  about  Veronica  ?" 

269 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  You  shall  hear  in  a  minute.  While  he  was 
wrapping  up  the  rings  he  went  on  talking.  How 
had  he  got  to  know  the  priest's  sister  ?  '  I  was 
in  Glogova  last  year.'  '  And  what  the  devil  were 
you  doing  in  Glogova  ?'  '  Why,  the  villagers 
were  having  a  silver  handle  made  here  for  a 
wretched-looking  old  umbrella,  which  they  keep 
in  their  church,  and  the  stupid  things  were  afraid 
to  send  the  umbrella  here  for  fear  any  one  should 
steal  it,  though  it  was  not  worth  twopence;  so  I 
was  obliged  to  go  there  in  order  to  fasten  the 
handle  on/ ' 

"  Why,  this  is  dreadful !"  exclaimed  Gyuri, 
turning  pale. 

Sztolarik  smiled. 

"  That  is  only  why  I  said,  my  friend,  that  we 
had  better  wait  a  bit  before  deciding  anything." 

"  Let  us  go  at  once  to  Father  Janos  and  ask  him 
to  show  us  the  umbrella." 

He  could  not  wait  a  minute  longer.  He  had 
been  so  near  to  his  object,  and  now  it  was  slipping 
from  him  again,  like  a  Fata  Morgana,  which  lures 
the  wanderer  on  to  look  for  it. 

It  was  easy  to  find  the  priest;  he  was  feeding 
his  pigeons  in  the  garden. 

"  Father  Janos,"  began  Gyuri,  "  now  Mr. 
Sztolarik  is  here  he  would  like  to  look  at  your 
wonderful  umbrella.  Can  we  see  it  ?" 

"  Of  course.     Mrs.  Adamecz,"  he  called  out  to 

270 


Three  Sparks 


the  old  woman,  who  was  plucking  a  fowl  at  the 
kitchen  door,  "  will  you  bring  me  out  the  key  of 
the  church,  please  ?" 

She  did  as  she  was  asked,  and  the  priest,  going 
on  in  front,  led  his  visitors  through  the  church. 

"  This  way,  gentlemen,  into  the  sacristy." 

As  they  stepped  in  there  it  was  before  them! 
Pal  Gregorics's  old  umbrella  smiled  at  them,  and 
seemed  like  an  old  friend,  only  the  handle,  yes,  the 
handle  was  unknown  to  them,  for  it  was  of  silver. 

Gyuri  gazed  at  it  speechlessly,  and  felt  that  the 
end  was  near.  A  demon  was  behind  him,  con- 
stantly urging  him  on,  and  whispering :  "  Go 
on,  go  on,  and  look  for  your  inheritance!"  A 
second  demon  ran  on  before  him,  beckoning  and 
crying :  "  Come  along,  it  is  this  way !" 

But  there  was  a  third  one,  the  liveliest  of  all,  who 
followed  in  the  wake  of  the  second  one,  and  each 
time  Gyuri  thought  he  had  attained  his  end,  this 
demon  turned  round,  and  laughed  in  his  face,  say- 
ing :  "  There  is  nothing  here !" 

Sztolarik  kept  his  countenance,  and  carefully 
examined  the  handle  of  the  umbrella,  as  though  he 
were  admiring  the  work. 

"  Had  it  always  this  same  handle  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh  dear  no,  this  is  of  real  silver,  and  very 
finely  chased.  The  jeweller  in  Besztercebanya 
made  it,  and  he  is  quite  an  artist.  Just  look  at  the 
style,  and  what  taste  is  displayed  in  it.  My  par- 

271 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


ishioners  had  it  made  last  summer  as  a  surprise 
for  me  while  I  was  away  at  the  baths.  The  old 
handle  had  been  broken  off,  and  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  make  use  of  the  umbrella.  I  expect 
it  was  Klincsok's  idea,  for  he  started  the  collec- 
tion. There  are  still  plenty  of  good  Christian 
hearts  to  be  found." 

Then  he  turned  to  Gyuri. 

"  I  will  introduce  you  to  Klincsok,  he  is  a  very 
worthy  man." 

Gyuri  wished  the  worthy  Klincsok  in  Jericho, 
and  he  could  even  have  found  him  a  companion 
for  the  journey,  for  behind  him  was  the  first 
demon,  again  whispering :  "  Go  and  look  for 
your  inheritance !" 

"  But  I  suppose  they  kept  the  old  handle  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  answered  the  priest.  "  It 
was  only  of  common  wood;  I  believe  Mrs. 
Adamecz  asked  Veronica  for  it." 

(It  must  have  been  the  second  demon  speaking 
through  the  priest :  "  The  handle  of  the  um- 
brella is  in  Mrs.  Adamecz's  possession.") 

Sztolarik  now  became  curious  too. 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  Adamecz  ?"  he  asked. 

"  My  old  cook,  who  just  now  brought  me  the 
keys." 

Mr.  Sztolarik  burst  out  laughing,  the  walls  of 
the  empty  church  re-echoing  with  the  sound. 

272 


Three  Sparks 


When  they  were  outside,  and  the  priest  had  gone 
in  with  the  keys,  the  old  lawyer  took  the  two  rings 
out  of  the  paper  they  were  wrapped  in  and  pressed 
them  into  Gyuri's  palm,  saying  quaintly : 

"  According  to  your  logic  of  half  an  hour  ago, 
you  must  now  marry  old  Mrs.  Adamecz,  so  go 
and  ask  for  her  hand  at  once." 

Gyuri  gave  no  answer  to  this  cruel  thrust,  and 
went  into  the  kitchen,  where  the  widow  was  fry- 
ing pancakes. 

"  I  say,  Mrs.  Adamecz,  where  have  you  put  the 
old  handle  of  the  church  umbrella  ?" 

Widow  Adamecz  finished  frying  her  pancake, 
put  it  on  a  wooden  platter  with  those  she  had  al- 
ready fried,  and  then  turned  round  to  see  who 
was  speaking  to  her. 

"  What  have  I  done  with  the  old  handle,  my 
dear?  Well,  you  see,  this  is  how  it  was.  My 
little  grandson,  Matyko,  got  ill  last  year  just  at 
cabbage-cutting  time — no,  I  believe  it  was  earlier 
in  the  year  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  care  when  it  was,  only  go  on." 

Widow  Adamecz  quietly  poured  some  more  of 
the  batter  into  the  frying-pan. 

"  Let  me  see,  what  was  I  saying?  Ah,  yes,  I 
was  speaking  of  Matyko.  Well,  it  was  the  result 
of  the  staring." 

(The  peasants  think  that  if  a  child  is  much 
looked  at  and  admired  it  pines  away. ) 

273 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Gyuri  began  impatiently  to  tap  with  his  foot 
on  the  floor. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  where  it  is  ?" 

"  It  is  there  under  the  table." 

"What,  the  handle?" 

"  No,  the  child." 

Yes,  there  was  Matyko,  sitting  on  a  basin 
turned  upside  down,  a  fat-faced,  blue-eyed  Slovak 
child,  playing  with  some  dried  beans,  its  face  still 
dirty  from  the  pancakes  it  had  eaten. 

"  Bother  you,  woman !  Are  you  deaf  ?"  burst 
out  the  lawyer.  "  I  asked  you  about  the  handle 
of  the  umbrella,  not  about  the  child." 

Mrs.  Adamecz  tossed  her  head. 

"  Well,  that's  just  what  I  am  talking  about.  I 
tell  you,  they  persisted  in  admiring  Matyko,  and 
the  poor  little  angel  was  fading  away.  There  is 
only  one  remedy  for  that ;  you  must  take  a  burn- 
ing stick,  and  let  three  sparks  fall  from  it  into  a 
glass  of  water,  and  of  this  the  child  must  drink 
for  three  days.  I  did  this,  but  it  was  of  no  use ; 
the  child  went  on  suffering  and  getting  thinner 
from  day  to  day,  and  my  heart  nearly  broke  at 
the  sight  of  him ;  for  I  have  a  very  soft  heart,  as 
his  reverence  will  tell  you  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it  for  a  minute,  but  for  heaven's 
sake  answer  my  question." 

"  I'm  coming  to  it  in  a  minute,  sir.  Just  at 
that  time  they  were  having  the  silver  handle  made 

274 


Three  Sparks 


to  the  umbrella,  and  our  young  lady,  pretty  dear, 
gave  me  the  old  handle.  Why,  thought  I,  that 
will  be  just  the  thing  for  Matyko;  if  three  sparks 
from  that  holy  wood  are  of  no  use,  then  Matyko 
will  be  entered  in  the  ranks  of  God's  soldiers." 

At  the  thought  of  little  Matyko  as  one  of  God's 
soldiers  her  tears  began  to  flow.  It  was  lucky  if 
none  of  them  fell  into  the  frying-pan. 

"  Mrs.  Adamecz !"  exclaimed  Gyuri,  alarmed, 
his  voice  trembling.  "  You  surely  did  not  burn 
the  handle?" 

The  old  woman  looked  at  him  surprised. 

"  How  was  I  to  get  the  three  sparks  from  it  if 
I  did  not  burn  it?" 

Gyuri  fell  back  against  the  wall,  the  kitchen 
and  everything  in  it  swam  before  his  eyes,  the 
plates  and  basins  seemed  to  be  dancing  a  waltz 
together ;  a  tongue  of  fire  arose  from  the  fireplace, 
bringing  with  it  the  third  demon,  who  exclaimed : 
"  There  is  nothing  here !" 

But  all  at  once  he  felt  a  hand  laid  on  his  arm. 
It  was  Sztolarik. 

"  It  was,  and  is  no  more,"  he  said.  "  But  never 
mind,  Fate  intended  it  to  be  so.  For  the  future 
you  will  not,  at  all  events,  run  after  a  shadow,  you 
will  be  yourself  again,  and  that  is  worth  a  good 
deal,  after  all." 


CHAPTER  III. 

LITTLE    VERONICA   IS    TAKEN    AWAY. 

BUT  it  was  of  no  use  Sztolarik  preaching  about 
the  uselessness  of  worldly  goods,  for  those 
worldly  goods  are  very  pleasant  to  have. 

When  a  favorite  child  dies,  the  members  of  the 
family  always  pronounce  very  wise  words,  which 
are  supposed  to  comfort  one  another,  such  as: 
"  Who  knows  how  the  child  would  have  turned 
out  ?  It  might  have  come  to  the  gallows  in  time ; 
perhaps  it  was  better  it  had  died  now,"  etc.  But 
for  all  that,  wisdom  has  never  yet  dried  our  tears. 

Sztolarik  said  all  he  could  think  of  to  console 
Gyuri,  but  the  young  lawyer  was  quite  cast  down 
at  the  thought  that  his  dreams  would  never  now 
be  realized;  his  whole  life  was  before  him,  dark 
and  threatening.  But  the  world  was  the  same  as 
of  old,  and  everything  went  just  the  same  as 
though  Widow  Adamecz  had  never  burned  the 
handle  of  the  umbrella. 

The  hands  of  the  parish  clock  pointed  to  the 
Roman  figure  II.,  and  the  chimes  rang  out  on  the 

276 


Little  Veronica  is  Taken  Away 

air;  the  servants  laid  the  table  for  dinner,  Mrs. 
Adamecz  brought  in  the  soup,  and  his  reverence 
led  his  guests  into  the  dining-room,  and  placed 
them  right  and  left  of  Madame  Krisbay,  when  all 
at  once  they  noticed  that  Veronica  was  missing. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  ask,"  said  Madame  Kris- 
bay,  "  if  she  had  been  with  the  gentlemen  ?" 

"  I  thought  she  was  with  you,"  said  the  priest. 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  for  two  hours." 

"  Nor  I." 

"  Nor  we." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  in  the  kitchen  ?" 

Madame  Krisbay  looked  vexed,  got  up  from 
her  seat,  and  went  into  the  kitchen  to  call  her 
pupil,  but  returned  at  once  with  the  remark  that 
she  had  not  been  seen  there  either. 

"  Where  can  she  be?"  exclaimed  the  priest,  and 
ran  out  to  look  for  her,  sending  the  servants  to 
some  of  her  favorite  seats  in  the  garden,  thinking 
she  might  have  gone  there  to  read,  and  have  for- 
gotten the  time. 

Mrs.  Adamecz  grumbled  in  the  kitchen,  for  the 
dinner  was  spoiling. 

"  Well,  serve  the  dinner,"  said  Father  Janos, 
for,  of  course,  he  could  not  keep  his  guests  wait- 
ing, especially  as  Sztolarik  wanted  to  return  home 
as  soon  as  possible. 

So  the  dishes  were  brought  in  one  after  the 
other,  but  still  there  was  no  sign  of  Veronica ;  and 

277 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


Hanka  had  returned  with  the  news  that  no  one 
had  seen  her. 

Gyuri  sat  in  his  place,  pale  and  quiet. 

"  Perhaps  she  is  in  the  apiary,"  suggested  her 
brother,  "  or  perhaps "  (here  he  hesitated  a 
minute,  not  knowing  how  to  continue),  "  perhaps 
something  unpleasant  has  taken  place  between 
you?" 

Gyuri  looked  up  surprised. 

•'  -  "  Nothing  has  taken  place  between  us,"  he  said 
coldly. 

"  Then,  Hanka,  run  across  to  the  new  house 
and  look  in  the  apiary.  Please  excuse  her,  gen- 
tlemen, she  is  such  a  child  still,  and  follows  her 
own  whims.  She  is  probably  chasing  a  butter- 
fly. Take  some  more  wine,  Mr.  Sztolarik." 

He  was  trying  to  reassure  himself,  not  his 
guests,  as  he  sat  there  listening  to  every  sound, 
paying  scant  attention  to  the  conversation,  and 
giving  many  wrong  answers. 

Sztolarik  asked  if  the  bad  weather  this  year  had 
made  much  difference  to  the  harvest. 

"  One  or  two,"  answered  the  priest. 
'    "  Have  you  any  other  brothers  or  sisters  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

His  answers  showed  the  perturbed  state  of  his 
mind,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  he  kept  his  seat 
at  table.  At  length  the  old  lawyer  said : 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  your  reverence 

278 


Little  Veronica  is  Taken  Away 

were  to  go  and  look  for  Miss  Veronica  yourself ; 
and  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  send  word  to 
my  coachman  that  I  wish  to  start  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, for  it  is  a  long  drive  to  Besztercebanya." 

The  priest  seized  the  opportunity,  and  begging 
Madame  Krisbay  to  excuse  him,  hurried  away, 
for  he  found  Veronica's  absence  very  strange,  and 
was  beginning  to  get  anxious.  So,  Madame 
Krisbay  having  retired,  the  two  gentlemen  were 
left  alone,  and  a  painful  silence  ensued.  Gyuri 
was  gazing  with  melancholy  eyes  at  the  canary, 
which  was  also  silent  now. 

"  You  had  better  order  your  carriage,  too," 
said  Sztolarik,  breaking  the  silence  at  last.  "  We 
could  leave  at  the  same  time." 

Gyuri  murmured  some  unintelligible  answer, 
and  shook  his  head. 

"  But  you  will  have  to  leave  soon,  for  our  part 
here  is  played  out." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  impossible." 

"Why?" 

"  Don't  you  see  that  Veronica  is  lost?" 

"  What  does  that  matter  to  you  ?  The  um- 
brella handle  is  lost  too." 

Gyuri  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  What  do  I  care  about  the  umbrella?" 

"  So  it  is  the  girl  you  want  ?  You  told  me  a 
different  tale  before  dinner." 

Gyuri  turned  round. 

279 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


"  I  did  not  know  then." 

"  And  now  you  know  ?" 

"  Yes,  now  I  know,"  he  answered  shortly. 

"  And  may  I  ask,"  said  Sztolarik,  "  when  did 
Amor  light  this  flaming  fire  ?  for  you  did  not  seem 
to  take  much  interest  in  the  girl  before  her  dis- 
appearance." 

"  And  yet  it  is  causing  me  at  the  present  mo- 
ment all  the  tortures  of  hell.  Believe  me,  my 
dear  guardian,  the  loss  of  my  inheritance  seems 
to  me  a  trifle  beside  the  loss  of  Veronica." 

Sztolarik  was  impressed  by  the  apparent  sin- 
cerity of  Gyuri's  sorrow. 

"  That's  quite  another  thing,"  he  said.  "If  that 
is  how  you  feel  I  will  stay  here  with  you.  Let  us 
go  and  look  for  the  girl  ourselves,  and  find  out 
what  she  thinks  on  the  subject." 

When  they  went  out,  they  found  great  confu- 
sion reigning  in  the  courtyard,  but  Mrs.  Adamecz 
was  loudest  in  her  lamentations. 

"  I  knew  this  would  be  the  end  of  it.  A  leg- 
end should  never  be  tampered  with  by  a  mortal's 
hand,  or  it  will  fall  to  pieces.  Oh,  our  dear  young 
lady!  She  was  God's  bride,  and  they  wanted  to 
make  her  the  bride  of  a  mortal,  so  God  has  taken 
her  to  Himself." 

Sztolarik  sprang  toward  her,  and  caught  hold 
of  her  hand. 

280 


Little  Veronica  is  Taken  Away 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ?  Have  you  heard  any- 
thing?" 

"  Gundros,  the  cowherd,  has  just  told  us  that 
he  saw  our  young  lady  this  morning  running 
straight  toward  the  Bjela  Voda,  across  the  mead- 
ows, and  her  eyes  were  red,  as  though  she  had 
been  crying.  There  is  only  one  conclusion  to  be 
drawn  from  that." 

A  lot  of  women  and  children  were  gathered 
round  the  kitchen  door,  and  one  of  them  had  also 
seen  Veronica  earlier  than  Gundros  had. 

"  Did  she  look  sad?"  asked  Gyuri. 

"  She  was  crying." 

"  Oh  dear !"  exclaimed  Gyuri  despairingly. 

"  We  will  look  for  her,"  Sztolarik  assured  him. 

"Where?" 

"  Out  in  the  meadows  or  in  the  village,  for  it  is 
certain  she  must  be  somewhere  about,  and  we 
shall  soon  know  where." 

"  That  will  not  be  so  easy,"  sighed  Gyuri,  "  for 
we  have  no  glass  to  show  us  things,  as  they  have 
in  fairy-tales." 

"  I'll  have  the  whole  village  round  us  in  a  few 
minutes." 

Gyuri  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  Had  Szto- 
larik gone  mad  to  think  he  could  call  all  the  peo- 
ple together  from  the  fields,  from  the  woods,  from 
everywhere  round  about?  But  the  old  lawyer 

281 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


was  as  good  as  his  word.  Veronica  must  be 
found  at  any  cost. 

"  Where  is  his  reverence  ?"  he  asked  of  the  by- 
standers. 

"  He  has  gone  to  the  pond  where  the  hemp  is 
soaked,  to  see  if  the  young  lady  has  fallen  in 
there." 

"Where  is  the  bell-ringer?" 

"  Here  I  am,  sir."" 

"  Go  up  at  once  into  the  tower,  and  ring  the  big 
bell." 

"  But  there  is  no  fire !" 

"  That  does  not  matter.  If  I  order  it  to  be 
done,  you  must  do  it.  Do  you  know  me?" 

Of  course  he  knew  Mr.  Sztolarik,  who  had 
often  been  to  Glogova  since  he  had  been  made 
President  of  the  Courts.  So  off  ran  Pal  Kvapka, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  big  fire-bell  was  tolling. 
There  was  no  wind,  and  the  sound  was  carried 
for  miles  around  over  the  meadows,  into  the 
woods,  over  the  mountains,  and  soon  the  people 
came  running  up  from  every  side.  It  was  as- 
tonishing how  soon  the  villagers  were  assembled 
round  the  Presbytery.  Those  who  saw  it  will 
never  see  its  like  again,  until  the  Archangel  Ga- 
briel sounds  his  trumpet  at  the  last  day. 

Sztolarik  gazed  placidly  at  the  crowd  assembled 
around  him. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  have  only  to  stand  up  in 

282 


Little  Veronica  is  Taken  Away 

their  midst  and  ask  them  if  any  of  them  have  seen 
Veronica.  But  it  will  be  quite  unnecessary,  for 
Veronica  herself  will  soon  be  here.  Look  out  of 
the  window,"  he  called  up  to  the  bell-ringer,  "  and 
tell  me  if  you  can  see  the  young  lady." 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  her,  she  is  running  through  the 
Srankos'  maize-field." 

"  She  lives !"  exclaimed  Gyuri  ecstatically,  but 
his  joy  was  soon  at  an  end,  for  he  thought :  "  If 
there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  her  she  must  have 
run  away  from  me." 

And  he  began  to  wonder  if  it  would  not  have 
been  better  if  she  were  dead,  for  then  he  could 
have  believed  she  loved  him,  and  could  have  loved 
her  and  sorrowed  for  her. 

The  bell-ringer  still  went  on  tolling  the  bell,  so 
Sztolarik  called  up  to  him : 

"  Stop  tolling,  you  fool,  can't  you  ?  Show  us 
which  way  the  Srankos'  maize-field  lies." 

'The  bell-ringer  pointed  to  the  right. 

"  You  run  on  in  front,  Gyuri,  and  try  and  get 
out  of  her  what  is  the  matter  with  her." 
;  But  Gyuri  was  already  gone,  through  the 
priest's  garden,  across  Magat's  clover-field,  and 
his  heart  began  to  beat,  for  from  there  he  could 
see  Veronica  in  her  green  dress,  without  a  hat, 
only  a  little  red  silk  shawl  round  her  shoulders. 
Across  Szlavik's  corn-field,  then  into  Gongoly's 
meadow,  and  they  were  face  to  face. 

283 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


r  The  girl  drew  a  sobbing  breath  when  she  saw 
him,  and  began  to  tremble  violently. 

"  Where  is  the  fire  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  there  is  no  fire.  My 
guardian  had  the  bell  rung  so  as  to  make  you 
return  home.  Why  did  you  run  away?" 

The  girl  turned  pale,  and  bit  her  lip. 

"  It  is  enough  if  I  know  the  reason,"  she  said 
in  a  low  voice.  "  Please  leave  me  alone." 

And  she  turned  round  as  though  to  return  to 
the  woods. 

"  Veronica,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  torture  me; 
what  have  I  done?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him  coldly,  her  eyes  were 
like  two  bits  of  ice. 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  she  said,  "  what  do  you 
want  with  me?" 

The  young  man  caught  hold  of  her  hand,  and 
Veronica  did  her  best  to  free  herself  from  his 
grasp,  but  he  would  not  let  go  her  hand  till  he  had 
forced  a  ring  on  to  her  finger. 

"  That  is  what  I  want,"  he  said. 

"That  is  what  you  want,  is  it?"  laughed  the 
girl  bitterly.  "  And  this  is  what  I  want !"  And 
she  tore  off  the  ring  and  threw  it  away,  across  the 
meadow,  into  the  grass.  Poor  Gyuri  fell  back  a 
few  steps. 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed,  "why  did  you  doit? 
Why?" 

284 


Little  Veronica  is  Taken  Away 

"  Do  not  try  to  deceive  me  any  longer,  Mr. 
Wibra.  You  should  not  put  a  ring  on  my  ringer, 
but  on  the  umbrella,  for  that  is  what  you  really 
want  to  marry." 

Gyuri  began  to  understand  what  had  taken 
place. 

"  Good  heavens !  You  listened  to  our  conver- 
sation !" 

"  Yes,  I  know  all !"  said  Veronica,  blushing 
slightly.  "  It  is  no  good  your  denying  it." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  deny  anything.  But  listen  to 
me,  please." 

They  walked  quietly  through  the  meadow, 
Gyuri  talking,  the  girl  listening,  while  the  thou- 
sands of  insects  which  peopled  the  fields  flew 
away  before  their  feet.  Gyuri  related  the  story 
of  his  life,  and  of  his  father's,  of  the  supposed  in- 
heritance, of  his  search  for  it,  and  how  he  had 
gathered  the  threads  together  till  they  led  him  to 
Babaszek.  The  girl  listened  to  him,  first  with  re- 
proach in  her  eyes,  then  as  judge,  trying  to  find 
out  the  truth,  and  as  the  story  began  to  interest 
her  more  and  more,  she  became  quite  excited. 
Now  she  was  neither  plaintiff  nor  judge,  only  an 
interested  listener,  surprised  that  the  threads  led 
nearer  and  nearer  to  herself.  Now  Gyuri  is 
speaking  of  Mrs.  Mtincz's  son,  now  Moricz  is 
telling  his  story,  which  shows  that  the  umbrella 
must  be  in  Glogova.  Then  the  forester's  wife 

.285 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


tells  the  tale  of  St.  Peter's  bringing  the  umbrella 
to  the  orphan  child.  A  few  more  words  and  the 
story  was  complete. 

S  Veronica  knew  all,  and  her  eyes  were  swim- 
ming in  tears.  ; 

"  Oh,  dear,  how  dreadful !  Mrs.  Adamecz 
burned  the  handle !" 

"  God  bless  her  for  it !"  said  Gyuri  brightly, 
seeing  the  girl's  depression,  "  for  now  at  least  I 
can  prove  to  you  that  I  love  you  for  yourself 
alone." 

Veronica  had  taken  off  the  small  red  shawl  and 
was  swinging  it  in  her  hand.  Suddenly  she 
caught  hold  of  Gyuri's  arm,  and  smiled  at  him 
through  her  tears. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  you  still  want  to 
marry  me?" 

"  Of  course.     What  do  you  say  to  it  ?" 

"  I  say  that  .  .  ."  She  ceased  speaking,  for 
there  was  a  queer  feeling  in  her  throat. 

"Well?" 

"  That  you  are  very  volatile,  and    .  .  ." 

"And?" 

"  And  that  .  .  .  Let  us  run  back  and  look  for 
my  ring." 

With  that  she  turned,  and  ran  as  fast  as  she 
could  to  the  part  of  the  meadow  in  which  they  had 
been  standing  when  she  threw  the  ring  away. 
Gyuri  could  hardly  keep  up  with  her. 

286 


Little  Veronica  is  Taken  Away 

They  looked  for  the  ring  a  long  time,  but  it 
was  not  to  be  found.  And  soon  Father  Janos  ap- 
peared on  the  scene. 

"  I  say,  Gyuri,  don't  say  anything  about  the 
umbrella  to  my  brother." 

"  No,  my  darling,  I  will  never  mention  it." 

His  reverence  gave  Veronica  a  good  scolding. 

'''  You  naughty  girl !  Is  that  the  way  to  be- 
have ?  How  you  frightened  us !  Of  course  you 
were  chasing  a  butterfly?" 

"  No,  I  was  running  away  from  one,  but  it 
caught  me." 

"What,  the  butterfly?" 

"  Yes,  that  ugly,  big  butterfly  standing  beside 
you." 

His  reverence  understood  as  much  as  he  was 
meant  to,  and  set  to  work,  too,  to  look  for  the  ring. 
But  they  might  have  looked  for  it  till  Doomsday 
if  Mr.  Gongoly  had  not  passed  that  way.  Ve- 
ronica had  quite  despaired  of  finding  the  ring. 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,"  said  the  nabob  of  Glo- 
gova,  shaking  back  his  long  gray  hair,  "  never 
mind,  trust  in  Gongoly,  he  will  find  it  for  you. 
There  is  only  one  way  to  do  it,  so  in  an  hour's 
time  they  will  be  making  hay  in  this  field." 

Though  the  grass  was  not  two  inches  high  (it 
had  only  been  cut  a  fortnight  before),  Mr.  Gon- 
goly sent  his  men  there  to  mow  it,  with  the  result 

287 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


that  next  day  the  ring  was  safely  resting  on  Ve- 
ronica's finger.  And  for  years  the  people  spoke 
of  the  wonderful  fact  that  in  that  year  Mr.  Gon- 
goly's  meadow  gave  two  crops  of  hay,  and  it  was 
always  mentioned  if  any  one  spoke  disparagingly 
of  the  Glogova  fields. 

What  more  am  I  to  say?  I  think  I  have  told 
my  story  conscientiously.  All  the  same  there 
are  some  things  that  will  never  be  known  for  cer- 
tain; for  instance,  what  really  became  of  Pal 
Gregorics'  fortune,  for  there  is  no  sign  of  it  to 
this  day.  Was  the  supposed  receipt  in  the  han- 
dle of  the  umbrella  or  not?  No  one  will  ever 
know,  not  even  little  Matyko,  who  drank  the 
water  with  three  sparks  in  it.  No  king  drinks 
such  precious  liquid  as  he  did — if  the  story  be 
true. 

The  legend  of  the  holy  umbrella  is  still  believed 
in  in  those  parts.  Mr.  Sztolarik,  who  was  fond 
of  a  gossip,  certainly  told  his  version  of  the  story, 
how  old  Miincz  the  Jew  had  made  a  present  to 
Christianity  of  a  holy  relic,  and  so  on ;  but  the  old 
belief  was  strongly  rooted,  and  he  was  only 
laughed  at  when  he  told  his  tale.  And  after  all, 
there  was  something  mystic  and  strange  in  the 
whole  affair,  and  the  umbrella  had  brought 
worldly  goods  to  every  one,  Gyuri  included,  for  it 
had  given  him  the  dearest  little  wife  in  the  world. 
They  were  married  very  soon  and  never  had  such 

288 


Little  Veronica  is  Taken  Away 

a  wedding  taken  place  in  Glogova  before.  Ac- 
cording to  Veronica's  special  wish,  every  one  who 
had  been  at  the  Mravucsans'  supper  was  invited 
to  the  wedding,  for  she  wanted  all  those  who  had 
been  present  at  their  first  meeting  to  take  part  in 
their  happiness.  There  were  a  lot  of  guests  from 
Besztercebanya  too,  among  them  the  mother  of 
the  bridegroom,  in  a  black  silk  dress,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Courts,  the  mayor,  and  lots  of  others. 
Then  there  were  the  Urszinyis  from  Kopanyica, 
two  young  ladies  from  Lehota  in  pink  dresses,  and 
Mrs.  Miincz  from  Babaszek,  with  lovely  golden 
earrings  on. 

There  were  so  many  different  kinds  of  convey- 
ances in  Glogova  that  day,  it  would  have  taken  a 
week  to  look  at  them  all. 

Dear  me,  what  a  lovely  procession  it  was  too; 
the  peasants  stood  and  gazed  open-mouthed  at  all 
the  people  in  their  beautiful  dresses,  but  most  of 
all  at  the  bride,  who  walked  at  the  head  of  the 
procession  in  a  lovely  white  dress  with  a  long 
veil  and  a  wreath  of  orange-blossoms.  Oh,  how 
pretty  she  was ! 

But  the  bridegroom  was  splendid  too,  in  the 
same  kind  of  dress  in  which  the  king  has  his  por- 
trait painted  sometimes.  His  sword,  in  a  velvet 
sheath  mounted  in  gold,  clattered  on  the  pave- 
ment as  he  walked  up  the  church. 

They  stood  in  a  semicircle  round  the  altar,  each 

289 


St.  Peter's  Umbrella 


lady  with  a  nosegay  of  flowers  in  her  hand,  and 
perfumed  to  such  an  extent  that  the  church 
smelled  like  a  perfumer's  shop. 

It  was  a  little  cool  in  the  church,  and  the  young 
ladies  from  Lehota  were  seen  to  shiver  now  and 
then  in  their  thin  pink  dresses;  but  everything 
went  off  very  well. 

The  bridegroom  spoke  his  "  yes  "  in  a  loud,  firm 
voice,  the  walls  seemed  to  re-echo  it,  but  the  bride 
spoke  it  almost  in  a  whisper,  it  sounded  like  the 
buzzing  of  a  fly. 

Poor  child!  She  got  so  nervous  toward  the 
end  of  the  ceremony  that  she  began  to  cry.  Then 
she  looked  for  her  handkerchief,  but  was  there 
ever  a  pocket  in  a  wedding  dress  ?  She  could  not 
find  it,  so  some  one  from  behind  offered  her  one, 
then  turned  and  said : 

"  Button  up  your  coat,  Wladin !" 


THE  END. 


BY  MAURUS  JOKAI 


THE  LION  OF  JANINA ;  Or,  The  Last  Days  of  the 
Janissaries.  A  Turkish  Novel.  Translated  by  R. 
NISBET  BAIN.  16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 

It  is  a  fascinating  story,  this  of  Ali  Pasha,  for  those  who  are 
sensitive  to  the  fascination  of  colossal  crime  done  on — shall  we 
say — the  heroic  scale.  But  "  The  Lion  of  Janina"  is  not  a  novel, 
and  as  such  it  were  folly  to  criticise  it.  It  is  a  brilliant  and  lurid 
series  of  pictures  drawn  by  a  great  master's  hand.  It  is  redolent 
of  the  East,  its  color,  its  tire,  its  fury,  its  fatal  allurement.  Its 
very  incoherence  is  characteristic.  Maurus  Jokai  never  niggles 
and  worries  his  canvas.  He  paints  with  a  big  brush,  with  a  mas- 
culinity and  audacity  of  touch  that  rivals  Rubens.  He  has  imag- 
ination, he  has  vision,  he  has  the  great  style.  To  say  more  of  him 
here  were  superfluous;  to  say  less  were  stupid. — London  Chronicle. 

THE  GREEN  BOOK  ;  Or,  Freedom  Under  the  Snow. 
A  Novel.  Translated  by  Mrs.  WAUGH.  16mo,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1  50.  (In  "The  Odd  Number  Series.") 

Maurus  Jokai  has  compressed  within  the  limits  of  some  five 
hundred  pages  as  much  material  as  would  go  to  the  making  of  half 
a  dozen  interesting  and  exciting  novels.  ...  It  gives  a  picture  of 
Russian  life  and  manners  that  is  wonderfully  fascinating  and  com- 
plete.—^. Y.  Sun. 

BLACK  DIAMONDS.  A  Novel.  Translated  by 
FRANCES  A.  GERARD.  With  a  Photogravure  Por- 
trait of  the  Author.  16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50. 
(In  "The  Odd  Number  Series.") 

Its  plot  is  complicated  enough  to  suit  the  most  exacting  admirer 
of  ingenious  mystery  ;  yet  the  narrative  runs  as  straight  as  a  rifle 
shot.  It  has  originality  in  an  eminent  degree,  for  two  or  three  of 
its  most  remarkable  scenes  have  practically  no  counterpart  in  lit- 
erature.— Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

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BY   ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


THE  CONSPIRATORS.    Illustrated.    Post 

8vo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

There  is  an  unmistakable  brilliancy  about  "  The 
Conspirators " ;  the  rollicking  spirits  of  the  hero, 
the  man  who  tells  the  story,  are  infectious,  and  his 
ardor  in  love  is  delightfully  romantic. — Chicago 
Tribune. 

LORRAINE.    Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1  25. 

Of  this  novel  The  Interior  says:  "A  more 
absorbing  story  could  scarcely  be  imagined ;  there 
is  no  better  tale  among  recent  publications  than 
'  Lorraine.' " 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

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